President Me?!

As a film director there so much I learn in my sleep about just getting to the heart of a story with no preamble. In an amazing dream last night I found myself mid-inaugural address as the new president of the United States!

Whaaa?

Inaug dream
Dream Inauguration of President Sheetz

Relax, I have no intention of running for president. This was a healing dream. My soul looked past today’s anger-fest president in a totally dismissive fashion.  It was fantastic to see the excitement and hope on the faces of the crowd as I spoke,

My fellow Americans, I have some big shoes to fill as your new leader. Those big shoes belong to none other of President Barrack Obama.

The job of rebuilding our relationships with fellow democracies and allies starts now. Today, as my first act as President, all tariffs are lifted.

At this very moment my transition team is preparing new legislation to convert all coal burning power to solar and to transition the auto industry fully to electric cars production by 2030. 

The dream was so exciting it woke me. But as lucid dreamer I closed my eyes and reentered the dream and used it to set intentions in the conscious field to reunify Americans divided by rampant racism, a sea of lies and to make reparations to the Native Americans.

Analyzing this dream I see it’s the work of my spirit guide Abraham Lincoln, not to lose faith in my values so badly under attack by Trump. Nice work, Abe.

May this powerful dream of renewed hope and change aid the healing of America. Aho!

The Robin Williams Visitations – Blue Whales and Coffee

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant VersionLove the visits still happening with Robin. Not had time to get on the blog much, especially after getting locked out due to some Merc magic. Let’s catch up with a wild one for you.

Back in August Robin’s newly minted ghost wanted me to go the San Diego with him and visit the blue whales. The mission? Help Robin be reincarnated as a blue whale. Robin explained he wanted to join the whales and dolphins is sending forth an ultrasonic frequency of laughter and love into the world to free humanity. I was too busy on the ultrasonic NEO Neurophone crowd funder to break away like that and Robin said a bit sadly, “I’ll go it alone then, Ken Sheetz.”

A few weeks later after the NEO funder launched, a huge hit that made it’s minimum goal in 72 hours I was having coffee a local spot here named the Coffee Pot restaurant and Robin joined me for coffee as he loves coffee and appears to me often when I have some brew.

“Sheetzy, I did it! I am in big mama blue whale waiting to be born again a as creature of the seven seas!”

There amidst all the overweight tourists Robin revealed his whale fetus self floating before me. I almost choked on my coffee and said telepathically, “Nice.”

“Nice? Nice is all you have to say? I’m a freaking baby blue whale, Sheetzo. No thanks to you. Hey, I kind look like that Genie I played in ALADIN!”

“I am sorry I could not abandon the Flangans, Robin. It’s how I am built. But I am happy for you. And I am getting now that it’s all connected. The pocket sized blue whale untrasonics of the NEO and your song with the blue whales.” I say to the smirking blue whale fetus. “How long until you’re born, Robin?”

“Do I look like a whale expert? Look it up on Google, please. Like to know how much longer I will be in mama whale’s belly.”

I type “gestation period for blue whales” in to my Iphone.

“Females typically give birth once every two to three years at the start of the winter after a gestation period of 10 to 12 months. The calf weighs about 2.5 tonnes (2.8 short tons) and is around 7 metres (23 ft) in length. Blue whale calves drink 380–570 litres (100–150 U.S. gallons) of milk a day.”

“Damn 2.5 tons I’ll be at birth! And I thought I was fat when I broke 200 pounds for a while!” belly laughs Robin.

“Looks like next summer late you will be a whale calf, Robin.” I say telepathically to Robin who has assumed his human form thankfully in the chair opposite me as my pancakes arrive.

“Yum. I love pancakes. Can I taste if you’ll be so kind as to loan me that fab bod of yours for a few?” asks Robin. “Been shy to ask you before. But we’ve bonded. You trust me right?

I nod and I feel Robin’s spirit merge with mine. I step aside from the body and let him taste the pancakes. “Oooh! Thanks, Kenny. Back to my chair.” Robin leaves my body, glowing with pancake joy in the across from me.

“Lots of people missing you, Robin. Been thinking of helping get together a Robin Williams Film Festival here in Sedona. Featuring great live standup mixed with your films and great new ones after the funder is rolling. Sedona needs more laughter. Such a serious place,” I say.

“Love it, Sheetzy! I’ll be helping you from the seas! Let’s make it happen. But I see one big problem,” grins Robin.

“What’s that?” I say.

“You don’t really believe any of my visits are real.” says Robin sadly, cupping his hands around the coffee mug I have filled and that sit in his chair, empty to all in the restaurant but me.

“I do and I don’t, Robin. Please, it’s my way of keeping my sanity,” I say thinking of my brother who has been recently in and out of mental hospitals.

“Fred’s not crazy because he sees a lot of what you do. He’s got the DTs.” says Robin, reading my mind. “Here let me give you a sign to show you that you’re not nuts seeing me, Sheetzo. Look at my coffee mug.”

DSC04666I reach across the pancakes and pick up the mug. There on the side of the mug, two blue whaled stand in relief, like reverse hieroglyphs!

Robin vanishes with a pleased laugh at my shock as the middle aged vet waitress comes up to my table, “More coffee, sir?”

“No thanks. I’ve had more than enough, waitress.” I say in wonder.

“I noticed you poured a cup to cool off while you drank the other. Smart. OK, hon, you need anything else you let me know.” She smiles turning to go.

“Wait, there is one thing. Can I buy this coffee mug with the whales on it?” I say showing her the whales in the side of the mug.

“Huh. Never saw whales on our mugs before, We have desert stuff on them. Kokopellie, cactus’s, ya know. Never whales. Lemme check with the manager if you can buy it.”

A short time later the waitress returns, “OK, young man, you have a deal. One whale mug from the desert of Seodna for $20.”

“Sold!” I say and off I go with my new mug and back to work on the NEO project, amazed at how the Neuroehone has amplified my psychic gifts to whole new levels and which I proudly promote here, for the most amazing product placement of my life: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/neo-neurophone-wearable-techno-meditation-device/x/178295

Could the Neurophone Have Saved Robin Williams?

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Sophia Sheetz

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?

mother_earth_eyeWhy 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.

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant VersionDon’t have a Neurophone yet?  Has the $800 price tag scared you away from investing in the marvelous modern marvel that got Dr. Falangan featured in LIFE magazine, this profound tool for improving your brain?

Good news!  Through a lot of determinate and hard work, as he wants more of the world to have one, all you need to do is until 9.3.14 and you can pre-order a 2015 Neurophone for only $399.  That’s fabulous 50% price and upgrades like a new rechargeable lithium battery and healing sound frequencies to boot.

Don’t be chicken like me and wait until the grim reaper of suicide is at your door.  I truly believe the Neurophone might saved Robin Williams, based on my success using one, and might be able be able to save you .

Everything Dr. Flanagan invents is gentle and good and meant to accelerate the gifts you already have and will soon only cost $399, less than a smart phone which makes you dumber.  Will the Neurophone’s gentle ultrasonic waves work for you like it’s worked for lifting my depression?  I hope so.  No guarantees.   Let me know if it did!

Back to our meditation. Keep breathing, oxygenate your brain, Neuophone or not.

Ah, yes, age. Why do we do we choose to age unlike other worlds that choose immortality? The answer: Boredom. To certain spirits, the ones who like to incarnate here, the world where we live one life, holding to one form of life is boring. Look at our entrainment, getting shorter all the time.  One minute movies are the norm on the we now.  BTW, the Neurophone, the inventor tells me, stimulates the brain, thus reducing boredom.

In any case, I am no scientist and the inventor of the Neurophone, the amazing Patrick Flanagan, makes it clear the Neurophone is not a medical device.  I only know on a very painful and personal level it helps beat the blues.

Are spirits who love to be born, to reboot to live life over and over again, to die, study what we learned in the spirit realm before reincarnating as what and who we chose, be it puppy or prince?  I’d like to think so, but fact is no on really knows.  Love the mystery!  Here’s how the Neurophone makes me feel as I express in this video.  About as far from depression as it gets!

THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATIONS – PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

Me and Don Miguel Ruiz atop the Pyramid of the Sun
Me and Don Miguel Ruiz atop the Pyramid of the Sun

“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams from the afterlife

December 2011, I am blessed to spend the Winter Solstice with Don Miguel Ruiz, author of the epic best seller THE FOUR AGREEMENTS to learn Toltec wisdom in the powerful setting of the pyramids of Mexico’s Teotihuacan.

Don Miguel teaches me, among many amazing things that help my DreamShield work, that in reality all of us live in a ghost world.  For example: Look up at the sun and you are looking at a ghost image from 8 minutes ago.  That’s how long sunlight takes to travel to earth.

Now let’s say you are sitting across the table from a fiend in a restaurant. It still takes the light milliseconds to reach you.  So Welcome to the ghost world the Toltec wizard Don Miguel, where all the people we see are in the past, and ever a construct of our minds.

In the profound spirit of Don Miguel’s Toltec lessons, I humbly offer my latest spirit encounter with Robin Williams.

But before we start Robin would like a word with you.

Thanks, Ken, you amazing gorgeous human being helping save the planet working for peanuts in the spirit work, as an unknown, but not for long voice.  I hope the fame heading your way never sends you back to that place and time when as a real estate mogul/dick and all you cared about was the cha ching.  You deserve a spirit Oscar, broheem!

The dearly departed spirit of Robin Williams here.  Real as a case and ever returning like a case of spirit herpes.  BTW, Ken has doubts I am nothing more than a ghost pattern in his memory, bit of undigested veggie chili fries made by his smoking hot friend Genevieve, as he learned from Don Miguel Ruiz.  Donnny boy, I’m on the other side now and here to tell you the ancient Toltecs smoltecs only have it half right. It’s beautiful over here, family, friends and fans. That’s FFFs for short. Which I’ll FFFing keep this.

Ignore Ken’s senior moment doubts. Ignore doubting Toltec wizards who miss the point: thought travels faster than the speed of light.  Ignore anyone dick who tells you the human spirit dies at death. And while you are at it, feel free as hell to ignore those who make living out of warping spirit with these made up branded-religions, dreamed up by ancient marketing experts like so much bottled water.  Spirit flows, has no rules.  Knows no boundaries of what to eat, what to wear, what to think, bubba.  From priests to rabbis, none of these jerkwads in the end know jack shit. None of you lovely people do.

Now some skeptics out there are saying right now as they read my spirit words channeling through Ken, who is not the greatest typist BTW, ” LO if you, kind ghost, be you in fact the great spirit of the Robin Williams, who loveth to curse like a sailor, and no PG Popeye of sailor, in his standup, pray tell us some things only the sweet Robin would know, while editing out the F.U.s!”

No can do, Nanoo. You see, that part of me, the meat brain that held my memory is gone. Even my heart is gone, all I am is spirit now. Which is kind of like saying, “All I am is the universe.” So there is no database left for me to play parlor tricks that you sad sacks would not believe in anyways.”

To the doubters and naysayers, ever those who loved me in life who be pissed about all this ghosting shit I feel compelled to, with this ghost whisper Sheetzy, who will invariably say the poor lad is profiteering off my grisly end.  I have two words to that, which I somehow remember from the great beyond, and they ain’t nanoo nanoo.

Now, get off your duffs and share the link-magic of how I am still with ya’all!  Subscribe to Sheetzy blog and buckle up for Peter Pan’s Battle of Area 51, just the beginning of my work with Ken and many others on the earth. I’m omnipresent now, bithces!

  – Cosmic hugs, Robin

PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

By Ken Sheetz and Robin’s Ghost

In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts.  I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully.  I love my little used Jeep, my first car owned in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991 and lots of spot leasing that makes me a Gold Club Hertz man, I recall as I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.

Peter Pan and the battle of area 51

I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before.  Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.

The Orion Ohom informed me along the way, “Careful, Ken.  High danger alert.  Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria.  To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.”

“How cheery,” I answer Ohom as I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence.  I tiptoe past a sleeping guard.  I’m in.

I crest a rocky desert hill.  Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid.  It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy.  Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?”  I shout.  “You in there, buddy?”

“Psst,  keep your damn voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then screams getting sucked back in.

I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor.  This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings.  I’d give you a link but stick with me.  No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.

As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged.  Overwhelmed by deep sorrow.  Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears.  The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone as an nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood.  I become confused.  Lost.  Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.

I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus, GMOs and more and more.  My father’s indestructible red armor begins to spark and short out.  I trip and fall face first to the desert floor.  Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear.  I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.

I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy?  You OK, bud?  Ooh.  Sorry to drag you on your face.  You look like you went a few round with Popeye, bro. Ca-ca-ca!  What a rotten way to start a Monday.”

I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my nose, tender to the touch and say, “Guess that force field is meant to keep out the living.  You like fine and dandy.”

“Oh, yeah.  Forgot in this corporate fairy Iand I am dead for a moment there!” kids Robin trying to hide his sadness.

This virtual world is a well organized commercial paradise inside the spirit HARP.  Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia.  No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems.  “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection and advertising,” I groan as an advertising blimp for McDonald’s new Quadrupole Bypass Burger floats by overhead in a cotton candy sky.

The voice of Ohom says for Robin and I to hear, “All this virtual reality is broadcast to the galaxy by Murdock Rupert.  True source of his wealth.”

“Whoa!  Whose talking to us, Sheetzy? Little green men?” says Robin at hearing Ohom strange voice.

“Long story,” I say as Robin helps me to my feet.

“Humor me.  I’m dead and we have all of eternity, Kenny boy,” says Robin.

“Please don’t call me that.  I have brother who just got out of Florida jail for two months for drinking and drugging who calls me Kenny boy,” I say sadly.

“Ah, yes, Fred.  You’ve told me about his famed Near Beer Recovery program, doomed to fail.  Sheetzy OK with you, my fellow sensitive friend?”  I nod and Robin continues, “So the voice?”

“Hey, Robin, huge fan of your work, man,” says the disembodied voice of Ohom, echoing over the perfectly manicured lawn where a nasty looking android cop turns his head 360 degrees searching for us.

“Yeah, that one drawing attention of the police bots to us!” says Robin pulling me into crouch to hide behind a huge Ronald McDonald statue.

Ohom whispers now, “Sorry.  I am Ken’s higher ET self, of the Orion star system.  His guide to help him save you and himself.  This place will be most difficult to escape as there will be many distractions.  Could take several eons to get out.”

“Nanoo nanoo, ET brother from another mother earth.  So why aren’t you in here helping us?” says Robin, not quite knowing where to look as he speaks to the air.

“Grey stolen alien tech powers the Spirit HARP.  Keeps my race of Nekatrians and all other ETs out.  But I can see and hear and help you through Ken’s handsome blue eyes,” whispers Ohom.

“I can tell you more about Ohom later, Robin,  Let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” I urge Robin.

“OK.  But you’re weirder than I am, Sheety and that’s saying something!” jokes Robin as we exit some hedges near the force field.

Hours later, after many strange distracting adventures in half built house of both our childhoods that almost make us forget to escape this fake branded corporate nightmare, Robin and I hunt in earnest for some kind of exit.  Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk.  The sunset is dazzling.  I whistle at the beauty all around us.

“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard.  You been in here now with me for six weeks, ” Robin says.

“Yup! This place is like America, filled with distractions. Look at that poor bastard over there!” says Robin.

A guy who looks a lot like my brother Fred runs on a giant gerbil wheel chasing a hot stripper holding a six pack of beer.

“Is that, my brother?” I say.

“Never met Fred.  How the hell should I know?

The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.

“Yeah, let’s keep moving.  Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as  small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.

“Sorry about you dad’s super suit.  Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.

“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.

“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.

“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.

“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville.  Oh, wait…  Forgot to cut my earthly tether.  Yikes.  I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.

“My fault.  Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground.  “Happy to see you again, man!  Watched you in HOOK with my night.  Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.”  I say doing my best acting brave to hide my loneliness that in the real world of Sedona

Williams jokes, speaking in that hilarious mile a minute rapid fire way of his,”Whoa, Sheetyz. I am an Oscar winner.  Plus I can minds read now to boot.  Hmm, I see you’re only “acting” all brave and all supy-superman-like.  You got some serious Kryptonite poisoning over this spirit daughter of yours moving out of your digs.”

“Got me,” I say, embarrassed at my childhood abandonment issues are still crippling my life after all the spirit healing I’ve been doing.

“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.

“For what?” I say

“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.

“I did not faint.  Women faint.  I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.

“Whoa.  Relax, man.  This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost  hope and change agenda.  We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise.  Coffee sucks here, BTW.  Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup!  I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.

pan_williamsAs I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time.  Change to yourself age 8.  I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”

“Uh, not really, uh, time.  Busting you out of here now before — ”

“Go ahead.  Try, Ken.  Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye.  Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.

I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.

“Spiritual impotency alert!  AGH!  AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.

“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.

“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench.  “My lap is safer than Santa’s,  Come on.  Up!”

I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me.  With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life.  A spirit daughter is rare.  Appreciate her without smothering her.  Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”

I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick.  “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.

“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not.  He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken.  Genevieve’s not your mommy who left you many times as a child because she was afraid of your meanie Captain Hook of a dad, Genevieve is not your grandma who got kicked out by your mean papa and most certainly Genevieve is not your dear auntie who died from loving beer more than you.”

“She’s not?” my eight-year-old self asks innocently.

“Uh uh.  She’s simply Genevieve Munoz.  A sweet young lady exploring her own life who happened to cross paths with yours.  A special friend, a temporary housemate, who used to be your grandma Anna in a past life. Well, I guess that’s not so simple,” says Robin gently lifting me for a swirl and standing little me up on the path. “Wanna play a game I call HELLO AND GOODBYE, little Kenny?” Robin offers, looking irresistibly mischievous.

“Ok…” I say reluctantly, not liking the sound of the GoodBye part of this game.

“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.

“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.

“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head.  Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes.  My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering.  Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.

Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!”  Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me.  I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.

“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.

“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.

Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin.  He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl.  I spin around.  “Oh no…” I whisper.  My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.

“Hey, you little shit.  Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words.  He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.

I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan.  “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin.  But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.

“Don’t leave me with my Daddy!  He will hurt me!  He’s mean!  Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.

Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.

“No!  Peter Pan please.  Fly me away to Neverland with you.  My papa is mean.  He’ll kill us both!” I beg.

“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you.  Your pops is an abusing jerk.  I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work.  Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.

“NO!  NO!  My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me.  I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close.  I puke again on the manicured lawn.  The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.

Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You!  You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your.  You sir are bad dad!”

“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights?  Whatcha gonna do about it?  Ken’s a rotten kid.  The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.

“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?”  As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.

My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”

But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”

“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly.  My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.

“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind!  Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.

“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.

“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,”  kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.

I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.

hook-4My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest.  “Huh?  Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned.  He looks at me as if wanting help. But I was a helpless child again.  Watching two people I love fight.  My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.

“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed.  I am going to gut you like a fish!  I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you.  Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”

“Hello, little Kenny?  A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.

“Can’t.  Can’t help you, Peter Pan.  I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.

“Hello, Little Kenny!  Then ain’t it time you grow up?  Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.

Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide!  Williams shouldn’t be here.  Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man.  This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.

“I loved Robin’s movies.  He died of depression.  No different from someone dying of car crash.  This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.

The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”

Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me.  Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth.  Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.

I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history.  I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”

My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur.  Every woman leaves you.  And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces?  Me!  Ha!  You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you?  You make me sick, boy.”

“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook.  Thanks for all you’ve done.  I’m grateful, Dad.  You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro.  But I felt your love, your loyalty.  Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.”  I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.

“Growed up?  Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50?  That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy.  You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes.  They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance.  Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.

“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love.  I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.

“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two.  But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head.  I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.

Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo!  Sheetz is all grown up.  Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”

I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig.  Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts.  Today, I am proud.”

My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth.  And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace.  For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.

Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture.  A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot.  I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver.  Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle

“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide.  So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now.  My father nods “yes” respectfully.

Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”

“What do you say, Pops?  My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.

bdblmp“I like it here, Son.  Fought in Korea to create all this perfection.  Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world.  A  blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.

“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me.  I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore.  Lost myself in the booze and drugs.  I miss my wife and kids.  My fans.  Help your son.  It’s time we started over.   And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.

My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer.  Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations.  One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.

“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly.  He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.

“For my birth daughter Janelle and spirit daughter Genevieve, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.

“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.

Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us.  His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light.  Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa!  For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”

Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”

FirefoxScreenSnapz019“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.

Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy.  We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel.  Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”

“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!

A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base.  My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP.  The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.

“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out.  “Uh, sorry.  Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”

“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form.  Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.

“What make you say that?  Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant Version“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids.  And more importantly, our inner kids.  That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.

“No arguments here, Robin.  Well, I guess this is goodbye.  Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.

“Agh!  Not yet.  I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy.  So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight.  We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.

A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.

“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name is the same as the woman Ohom, my spirit guide has told me is my prefect mate but who has yet to accept my invite to Sedona.  Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, Elizabeth.  I wish you’d wrap up life in LA and come to Sedona.”

Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan.  “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion.  I said it knowing since Ohom is right about everything that she and I will meet again and share many adventures.”

“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.

I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it.  Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello.  I’m cool now.”

Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51.  Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”

“But I have work to do today.  Tax reports need –”

“Time is not linear, Ken.  So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.

I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.

IN HONOR OF ROBIN WILLIAMS, 1951-2014

THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATIONS

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant VersionAs some of you may know I’ve been seeing and talking to the dead since I survived a NDE at age 4.  Since my visit to the other I gained an ability to see and speak to those on the dearly departed. This is a very special tribute, directed by Robin Williams’ spirit, or at least the very much alive spirit of Robin’s that lives in my heart.

Many times, throughout my whole life when a major figure dies, I get paid a visit.  It’s happened with Marilyn, Elvis, MJ and Abe Lincoln’s powerful spirits.  Abe’s becoming a 2009 hit web series on YouTube ABE LINCOLN IS BACK.  It’s only recently I’ve accepted all this as more than my vivid imagination.

ADDED AUGUST 18, 2014

PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

By Ken Sheetz

In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts.  I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully.  I love my little used Jeep, my first car in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991.  I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.

Peter Pan and the battle of area 51

I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before.  Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.

The Orion Ohom informed along the way that Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria.  To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.

I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence.  I tiptoe past a sleeping guard.  I’m in.

I crest a rocky desert hill.  Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid.  It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy.  Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?”  I say.  “You in there, buddy?”

“Psst,  keep your voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then getting sucked back in.

I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor.  This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings.  I’d give you a link but stick with me.  No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.

As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged.  Overwhelmed by deep sorrow.  Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears.  The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone I see as a nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood.  I become confused.  Lost.  Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.

I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus and more and more.  My father’s red armor begins to spark and short out.  I trip and fall face first to the desert floor.  Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear.  I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.

I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy?  You OK, bud?  Sorry.  Wow.  What a rotten way to start a Monday.”

I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my face, tender to the touch.  This virtual world is a well organized paradise inside the spirit HARP.  Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia.  No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems.  “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection,” I groan.

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” urges Robin, helping me to my feet.

Looking for some kind of exit, Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk.  The sunset is dazzling.  I whistle at the beauty all around us.

“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard.  The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.

“Yeah, let’s keep moving.  Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as  small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.

“Sorry about you dad’s super suit.  Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.

“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.

“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.

“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.

“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville.  Oh, wait…  Forgot to cut my earthly tether.  Yikes.  I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.

“My fault.  Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground.  “Happy to see you again, man!  Watched you in HOOK with my last night.  Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.”

 

“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.

“For what?” I say

“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.

“I did not faint.  Women faint.  I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.

“Whoa.  Relax, man.  This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost  hope and change agenda.  We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise.  Coffee sucks here, BTW.  Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup!  I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.

pan_williamsAs I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time.  Change to yourself age 8.  I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”

“Uh, not really, uh, time.  Busting you out of here now before — “

“Go ahead.  Try, Ken.  Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye.  Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.

I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.

“Spiritual impotency alert!  AGH!  AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.

“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.

“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench.  “My lap is safer than Santa’s,  Come on.  Up!”

I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me.  With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life.  A spirit daughter is rare.  Appreciate her without smothering her.  Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”

I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick.  “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.

“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not.  He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken.  Genevieve’s not your

“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.

“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.

“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head.  Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes.  My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering.  Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.

Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!”  Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me.  I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.

“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.

“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.

Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin.  He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl.  I spin around.  “Oh no…” I whisper.  My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.

“Hey, you little shit.  Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words.  He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.

I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan.  “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin.  But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.

“Don’t leave me with my Daddy!  He will hurt me!  He’s mean!  Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.

Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.

“No!  Peter Pan please.  Fly me away to Neverland with you.  My papa is mean.  He’ll kill us both!” I beg.

“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you.  Your pops is an abusing jerk.  I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work.  Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.

“NO!  NO!  My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me.  I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close.  I puke again on the manicured lawn.  The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.

Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You!  You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your.  You sir are a bad dad!”

“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights?  Whatcha gonna do about it?  Ken’s a rotten kid.  The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.

“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?”  As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.

My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”

But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”

“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly.  My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.

“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind!  Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.

“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.

“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,”  kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.

I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.

hook-4My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest.  “Huh?  Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned.  He looks at me as if wanting help. But I am a helpless child again.  Watching two people I love fight.  My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.

“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed.  I am going to gut you like a fish!  I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you.  Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”

“Hello, little Kenny?  A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.

“Can’t.  Can’t help you, Peter Pan.  I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.

“Hello, Little Kenny!  Then ain’t it time you grow up?  Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.

Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide!  Williams shouldn’t be here.  Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man.  This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.

“I loved Robin’s movies.  He died of depression.  No different from someone dying of car crash.  This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.

The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”

Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me.  Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth.  Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.

I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history.  I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”

My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur.  Every woman leaves you.  And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces?  Me!  Ha!  You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you?  You make me sick, boy.”

“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook.  Thanks for all you’ve done.  I’m grateful, Dad.  You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro.  But I felt your love, your loyalty.  Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.”  I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.

“Growed up?  Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50?  That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy.  You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes.  They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance.  Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.

“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love.  I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.

“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two.  But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head.  I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.

Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo!  Sheetz is all grown up.  Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”

I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig.  Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts.  Today, I am proud.”

My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth.  And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace.  For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.

Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture.  A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot.  I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver.  Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle

“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide.  So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now.  My father nods “yes” respectfully.

Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”

“What do you say, Pops?  My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.

bdblmp“I like it here, Son.  Fought in Korea to create all this perfection.  Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world.  A  blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.

“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me.  I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore.  Lost myself in the booze and drugs.  I miss my wife and kids.  My fans.  Help your son.  It’s time we started over.   And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.

My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer.  Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations.  One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.

“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly.  He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.

“For my birth daughter Janelle who has not spoken to me in 3 years, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.

“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.

Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us.  His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light.  Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa!  For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”

Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”

FirefoxScreenSnapz019“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.

Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy.  We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel.  Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”

“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!

A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base.  My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP.  The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.

“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out.  “Uh, sorry.  Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”

“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form.  Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.

“What make you say that?  Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant Version“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids.  And more importantly, our inner kids.  That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.

“No arguments here, Robin.  Well, I guess this is goodbye.  Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.

“Agh!  Not yet.  I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy.  So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight.  We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.

A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.

“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name.   Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, I hope you’ll finish your LA life and join me in Sedona some day. Don’t forget Ohom says you are my perfect mate.”  The giant blue whale vanishes.

Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan.  “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion.  I said it knowing my spirit daughter Elizabeth and I will meet again and share many adventures.”

“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.

I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it.  Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello.  I’m cool now.”

Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51.  Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”

“But I have work to do today.  Tax reports need –“

“Time is not linear, Ken.  So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.

I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.

RIP ROBIN WILLIAMS 1951-2014

AUGUST 15, 2014

I am at a local coffee shop called Bad Kitty in Sedona and the spirit of Robin Williams has dropped for an interview!

ROBIN: Hi world. It’s me, Robin. Or least Ken’s memory pattern of me. You decide!

KEN: Robin, great directing me in the spoof poster (left) yesterday. You’ve still got the magic touch.

ROBIN: Thanks, Sheetzy! Nice colab. I promise to keep haunting your ass!

KEN: Some people are saying you’re in hell. Was the poster a message you’re really in heaven?

ROBIN:  Hell no! There is no heaven or hell. I was in heaven. That’s what earth is. Tell you a secret, Sheetzo…

KEN: What, Robin?

ROBIN: I collabed with you on the poster as an FU to that slob Limbaugh! What a waste of radio waves that fat jerk is!

KEN: I love the poster even more then, Robin.

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The chair at Bad Kitty Coffee in Sedona where I interviewed the spirit of Robin Williams.

ROBIN: Enough about super-losers like, Rush. I want to say something to my wife; Oh, Suzie Q, I am so damn sorry, baby. We’ve been on so many great trips but this was one I had to go solo on, darlin’. I want you to know I am always with you, honey lamb.

KEN: Aw, Robin, hard for me to type through the tears.

ROBIN: Buck up, Sheetz! I need to say something to my kids.

KEN: Of course. Go ahead, Robin.

ROBIN: Zelda, Zak, Cody, oh, how I miss you all. If it helps, my leaving has ended my pain. It’s kind of like WHAT DREAMS MAY COME over here only no hell. You can eat almost anything. Feels very light headed over here. No judging jerks. I’m viewed no different for dying of depression that someone dying of cancer. Ain’t that cheery?! Ha! — So no rushing in to save me because there’s nothing to save me from. I live on in your hearts. You know that and it makes me glad. Makes me so proud of you, my ZZCs. Please tell your poor mom I am more than sorry it never worked out of us. But we made you and that’s always going to be our best thing we both ever did in life. M put up with my high highs and low low lows for a long time. She deserves a freaking super hero medal!

Robin sits quietly across from me drinking in the sweet Sedona energy and nods to add…

ROBIN: To my fans, I miss being alive! To live, ah the good times we had. I felt your love for so long. Feel it still here where I am munching on a hedge. I know some part of me lives, the silliest and best part of me, on and on your hearts too. Maybe too much. Take it easy. I was just a comedian, a trickster, for Christ’s sake. Please, don’t follow my lead. Get help when you get too blue. Hey that’s a poem. Ok, Ken, thanks for this, fantasy or reality, who gives a nano of a nanoo!

KEN: My honor and pleasure. Where you off to, Robin?

ROBIN: Got an appointment with a flock pigeons.

KEN: Pigeons?

ROBIN: Yep. Guiding the flock to poo all over Rush Limbaugh’s freshly washed car! Ciao, all! Muaah! Muaah! Muaah!

Robin vanishes from the chair. The sound of a flock of pigeons fluttering off with Robin as I finish my coffee with a chuckle. Well, friends, you deicide if my encounters with the spirit of Robin Williams are real or not. You see, I’m not really sure myself. Typical me if you follow my work. I’ll never be 100% sure of my gifts I see. But I now see that not-sureness is a gift that keeps me humble and grounded in the real world. My unsureness is a tether to keep me on this side. Yes, I’m just happy to be half way sure these days after a lifetime of suppressing my psychic gifts.

AUGUST 16, 2014

I work early this Saturday morning and rolled over in my bed to see what the day was going to be like. There, on the pillow beside me, was the spirit of Robin Williams starring me in face with big grin.

Robin said, “Gotta do something about your snoring of, Sheetzo, or you’ll never get laid again!”

I laughed, overjoyed to see Robin was looking young and spry like his “Mork and Mindy” days.

“Let’s do a meditation. The guys on this side say you rock the cosmos for a human,” said Robin sounding a bit anxious I might decline.

“Absolutely! Close your eyes, Robin,” I said.

“Do I still have eyes to close?” said Robin slapping his cheeks. “Okay, felt that. Here goes.” and Robin and I closed our eyes in unison.

“Hang on. We need to leave the planet for this one. I need lots of space,” I said confidently. Robin groped the bed sheets for my hand. “Watch it, Robin. That’s not my hand!”

“Don’t blame me, Sheetz-a-rama. You said to close my eyes before we got all touchy feely!” said Robin with a chuckle.

Finally Robin and I managed to clasp hands. They were hairy hands. Strong. “Ease up on the grip, Robin. You won’t fall.”

As I said this we rocketed through the roof of the troublesome but beautiful place I rent in Sedona. Robin screamed in that hilarious way he has in so many movies in genuine shock, no acting here.

Soon we was broke free of earth’s atmosphere. I gazed at the sun and flew for at five times the speed of light. “You’re heading for the sun! We’ll be burnt alive. Oh wait. I’m dead… Proceed, Sheetzy!”

A black square opened in the face of the sun. “Potal. Hang on, Robin!”

Robin screamed like a banshee as we rocketed one million times the speed of light down a worm hole. I’ve done this before over countless lives I could now recall and simply yawned.

We shot from the worm hole and were surrounded by total blackness. Robin kept screaming while I patiently waited for him to chill like me.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Total nothingness! Where the heck are we, Mr. Sheetz!” shouted Robin.

“Right where we need to be, outside our universe. I said we needed space. Didn’t I?” I said calmly to Robin,

“You didn’t say EMPTY space!” said Robin, so freaked out he’d forgotten he was dead as I scanned his mind with mine. Which was a good thing. I wanted that for him.

“Okay, are we done freaking out now, Robin? Let’s do some magic. Look closer at the darkness. See? It’s filled with energy,” I said as now bright splotches of every color of the rainbow, densely dotted the infinity around us.

Robin calmed and whistled in excitement.

“Now, concentrate. Let’s pulls all this light and energy to us.” I said holding forth my hands. Robin copied my hand gestures. Colors, of a spectrum far greater than the human eye can see, stretched for us and began filling Robin and I with light and energy.

Soon a ball of light was all about Robin and me and he said, “Wow. What the heck are we doing, Ken?”

“Watch.” I said a bit amazed I knew exactly what I was doing as effortlessly as making a morning coffee.

The ball of light became a world. Not your typical world but a world filled with a huge green hedge of mazes that circled the globe. I willed a large plaza to form on the surface.

Stellar gasses ignited and the maze world saw its first sunrise. Robin’s mouth hung open in childlike wonder. And before he could ask another question I willed us into the plaza. Birds sang in the dawn light.

Robin opened his mouth to speak. I held a finger to my lips for him to be silent. A young woman with daisies in her hair exited a section of the vibrant lush maze hedge.

Tears poured from Robin’s cheeks as he dashed across the carpet of flowers and grass for the young woman shouting, “Zelda! Oh Zelda!”

Robin and his daughter met in loving embrace in the middle of the plaza. Now Robin’s sons Zak and Cody, his wife Susan and ex-wife Marsha ran from various maze points and joined the joyous reunion. More family and friends, some very famous, joined the growing throng of love.

No one remembered Robin was dead, not even Robin. All that existed was love outside the boundaries of time and space and deep sense of reunion. This was our gift to Robin, me and Ohom my higher ET self. Ohom let me do all this. The very first solo use of manifesting powers at this level to create this planetary maze for an amazing world of peace and love. A fresh new world for Robin and all who love him.

Millions of fans of Robin were streaming from the maze exits and I willed the biggest stadium ever in existence into reality. A stage of paradox with millions of people who all had front row seats to watch Robin reunite with his current family, his long dead family and those yet to be born, into infinity.

The audience began to chant, “Robin, Robin, Robin!” Robin seated his family on the stage and took a microphone I gave him. More and more stars were appearing in the sky above us which had no atmosphere. We had no need for air here. Not while a new universe was being born.

A spotlight from the top of a maze hedge lit up Robin, sporting a rainbow-colored shirt and silver baggy pants.

In my home back in Sedona I was no longer me. I was gone. I was Robin and I chose to sit on the edge of the stage, which was also the edge of my bed. Everyone’s love for me was overwhelming. I, Robin Williams, the man who had a wisecrack for everything, was speechless.

My microphone began to glow with a golden white light. I pulled it to my lips, but no words came. So I said to myself, “Go with it! Mime time!”

I floated above the love gathering. So much love! I released a billion white butterflies of light, one for everyone here on planet maze. Laughter and applause echoed through the new universe. Robin beamed a bright smile and resisted words to the end, just soaking in all the love and light.

I opened my eyes in Sedona. Ken again. And proceed to the kitchen, light as feather, to make coffee and started my Saturday with my guest Genevieve and Hanny, who were here to take a visit to Angel Valley with me today to walk the labyrinth for a http://dreamshield.org/ meditation. A meditation that turned out to be the conclusion to a planetary meditation I’d stated in 2011 in Nashville to end addiction on the earth. I felt Robin with me in the maze whenever I goofed around.

A fitting thing on a day when I hope I helped Robin’s spirit find peace and he helped me in ending addiction that’s torn apart of father and brother. Hoping it was enough to help him on his way and give peace to his loved ones. And hoping that Robin won’t be waking me up in my bed ever again!

SUICIDE AND THE AFTERLIFE

There’s been a lot of judging by the religious of Robin’s needing to end his life.  On Friday I unfriended a religious person who reacted vehemently to my poster I did for and with Robin. The reason being they could not let go of judging Robin as unworthy of heaven. I let this pass for the first round of comments but then they returned with a snide inappropriate comment. I don’t mind some healthy debate in the proper forum, but I could see my modern paradoxical way of thinking was only agitating this good person so I ended the FB friendship.

That FB thread is not a place I choose to tolerate old belief system judgments or any kind of wisecracking that’s Rush Limbaugh-like in it’s level arrogance about matters none of us really know about. The religious are free to have their opinions on my pages as long as they acknowledge they don’t really have the answers and operate in mutual respect here. Probably it is unrealistic of me to expect that of the religious minded as they are locked into the old ways with years of mental conditioning. Still I send the person I unfriended here in the middle of the night love as send them on their way. Indeed, my modern beliefs more closely follow those of my friend Dannion Brinkley, who has survived many near deaths and seen the other side. Dannion told me in after a 2012 interview I did of him, wish I had that part on camera, that there is no shaming or special penalties for suicide victims in the afterlife.

However, suicide does, according to Dannion, and all we know is no one really knows, mean you must relive your life over again after a nice rest and repeat the lessons of your karma. That’s a lot of incentive not to take your own life. I sure wouldn’t want to repeat my past again. But Dannion says sometimes a soul like Robin’s simply becomes too overwhelmed with pain and they use their free right to end their own suffering. And of course the hardest part of it all is the pain suicide inflicts on those left behind. In Robin’s case he left children and a wonderful wife behind who are suffering terribly. His pain had to be enormous to take the exit door.

Robin’s depression was paralyzing for him to not to be able to avoid inflicting such pain on his loved ones. If there is a heaven – and, again, no one really knows in fact if there is or is not, despite what some religious people are preaching as they judge suicide Robin’s crime as punishable by an eternity of hell – in Dannion’s viewings of the after life he saw, no one takes the hardline and judges suicide as evil. Indeed, the suicidal depression that killed Robin is viewed in the afterlife Dannion saw as being no different, and with no less love and compassion, than is given for someone dying of plane crash.

I like that. It fits my intuitive belief of life a universe like the animal kingdom of non-judgement. We are the only shaming species.  In fact Dannion says there is no hell at all. What does happen is you have a past life review and must relive your life through the eyes of those you caused to suffer before you can go onto the next life to relive your karma. So if you murdered someone, for an awful example, you are going to suffer that murder yourself and feel what it was like to be killed by your old self. Robin’s case is special. Applying Dannion’s beliefs, Robin, so connected to so many who loved him will be reliving millions of lives of hurt fans he left behind in addition to his close friends and family’s lives. That’s going to be long and painful journey for Robin, if Dannion has it right. But Dannion explains that’s why time is eternal and non-linear.

Well, an amazing thing is happening with Robin’s passing. For the first time talk of suicide is in the open. In the end that’s healthy for us all. My wish for Robin is that he gets to live that next life without the manic depression illness that caused him so much pain it led to all his addictions and yet that he – or she as the case may be next go around – still be as brilliant an entertainer.

I’ll keep you posted about more encounters with ETs, the dead, Gods and Goddesses, right here.  Bottom line, there’s way more to the universe than what we can see and touch.

HOW MY PSYCHIC GIFTS HAPPENED

Here’s my video about how I got my gifts to see more than the average bear.

Dark Awakening – Part One

Nothing can stop me from loving my brother. – Brandy Norwood

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Me and my little brother with Mom, circa 1959

Normally, I try to report things in my world kind of as they happen.  However, in the case of my brother and his dark awakening, I’ve been slow.  It’s been painful to share given he’s been the person I loved most in my life.  He’s been with me through an abused childhood that we share as a powerful bond. Hard thing is my little brother, middle of three of us Sheetz boys, is not always easy to love.

I’ve pretty much led a boy scout of a life.  Not always.  I am no saint.  I experimented in school with drugs and booze, trying to see if I could master what my dad never could.  Lucky for me, I was rescued by the love of a college sweetheart, a powerful Taurus, who would become my wife.

Later in life, after my divorce, I’m now protected by the good habits learned while married to a good woman for 18 years and most of all my own clear grasp that clean and sober is the only way to live a happy life.  My brother’s harsh life has served as a cautionary tale for me.  Share it with someone you love who is drinking and drugging.  If one person avoids my brother’s fate it will be worth it and is why ultimately I share “Dark Awakening.”

Unlike me, my brother never stopped self-medicating with substance abuse very long his whole life, from teen onward.  While we are together and with family he behaves clean and sober, if always with a beer in hand with a smoke.  The times in between are where his troubles lie.

On or about September 11, 2013, in that dark and disastrous 9/11 energy field, I see now as I write, I got a message from my nephew in the early AM that my brother was in the ICU after emergency surgery in a Kenosha Wisconsin hospital for a bleeding ulcer.  I raced in my rental car, soon as I had my flights and hit the road to Wisconsin and my sick brother.

When my brother’s emergency hit I was on extended assignment for my film business BuzzBroz.com.  There are no major flights into or out of Sedona.  So I drove two anxiety filled hours to the Hertz rental car store at the Phoenix airport to make my connection to Chicago then a drive from Chicago up to Kenosha.

As the Arizona mountains and cactus flew past the rental car’s windows my sad thoughts went back to July 31, 1990 and the pit of despair my brother fell into that harmed my family-life in a profound way.  It was my daughter’s 8th birthday party.  We celebrated my little girl’s big day in our new mansion in Lake Forest, all of us having a wonderful time in the abundance life was showering on me as the sole family breadwinner.

The phone rang as my daughter cut her birthday cake.  My wife answered, happily nibbling on the cake knife’s frosting.  Soon her face went white with shock.  She handed me the phone and said loud enough for everyone at the party to hear, “Ken, it’s your father.  He says your brother has lost his marbles and is coming to the party to kill all of us!”  A silence fell over my daughter’s birthday party.

I took the call, and my father, who was estranged from me at that time, repeated exactly what my wife said; my kid brother was coming to kill me and my entire family.  The fear in my father’s guilt-choked voice sounded real.  So I took action to protect my family from a brother who had gone insane, according to dad.  My brother had not been himself for a solid year.  Calling at all hours of the night.  Bringing a hooker to dinner. So this dire warning fit.

After my call, the police sent quad cars to patrol near our home.  My daughter’s party turned into a nightmare of fear my brother would appear any second with guns, knives or God know what.

My brother in-law grabbed a baseball bat from the garage and threatened to crack open my brother’s skull if he tried to mess with any of us.  Worried how fast my baby’s birthday party was escalating to a killing-free-for-all, I asked my angry brother-in-law try to break my brother’s leg instead, please.  That way we could pin him down for the police to deal with and not sink to his level.  My brother-in-law, a dentist my mother-in-law constantly compared me to as my better, reluctantly agreed.

Meantime, my baby girl, my pride and joy’s sweet little faced turned from joy to fear and sorrow.  “How could my brother do this shit to his sweet niece?” I wondered, infuriated.

The phone rang again and we all almost jumped out of our skin.  I answered this time and the police reported that they had intercepted my brother at a Waukegan bar about half an hour north of Lake Forest.  They said he was carrying no weapons except a legal sized jackknife and so no charges could be brought.  My brother had told the cops he never made the horrible death threat my father claimed.  My brother’s claim was that our father was angry over my brother taking his car without his permission and messing with us all.  This was far more acceptable to my heart even though I did not completely believe my crazed brother.  It was one crazy person, my dad’s word, against another his crazy son’s word.

The cops also said my brother was drunk and he needed a ride home back to Wisconsin to get my father’s car back.  My wife stuck with me, afraid my brother might hurt me, and we left our son and daughter with my wife’s parents, who shot me again looks of disgust.  This in-law duo had their own dark family issues I lovingly dealt with in the past.  Now that it was their turn to return the favor I felt no love at all from them.

I hated to drag my wife from the party and wish I hadn’t.  What a dumb thing to ask of her I see now.  My brother was my mess to clean up.  Ah, there’s the old enabling still in play.  More accurately seen from 2014 my brother’s mess was HIS to clean up.

But this was 1990.  Long before the tons of healing work I’ve done to recover from the many of the same child abuse issues, minus drugs and booze, plaguing my brother.  I’d not yet had a stitch of therapy. Though my great success as a millionaire at only 38 years-old made me appear solid, I was in fact a mess on the inside.  On this fateful birthday I was freaked out and not thinking clear.  My brother and father when they teamed up like this, despite my great successes as Chicago’s #1 real estate broker according to many and some fans in the press, had a way of making me a helpless child again.

When I met my brother at the Waukegan bar where the cops had intercepted him, it was the first time in 2 years I’d seen him.  The drinking and drugging and six months in prison had decimated his good looks.  My love for him usually so strong, now a smoking crater in my heart, as this phantom of my brother staggered into my arms.  He reeked of beer and cigarettes as he told his twisted side of the death threat story of our twisted father’s.

I am no fool.  I only half believed my mess of a brother.  I had seen how crazy he got on these binges many sad times.  He may very well have said what he said to simply mess with our father, I rationalized, not imagining my brother could ever harm me or my family.  Still I was disgusted at the mess he’d made of my daughter’s birthday party.  Despite the disgust I felt at the awful way my poor brother acted, the past shared feelings of an abused childhood, the tears, my love for him got the better of me. So I offered to help him get home with our abusive dad’s car.  At that moment in a way, I can see now I made a poor choice of my brother over my own new family.  I simply couldn’t help myself and my wife was sad I was getting sucked into this mess.

I drove my dad’s beater car while my frightened wife followed in my racing green Jaguar.  I’ll never forget the fear and confusion in her deep brown eyes flecked with gold as I watched her in my dad’s beater car’s review mirror, my ruined brother at my side taking solace in my rescue.  I feel it’s where she lost her love for me.  We’d end up divorced in 1992, but this was the fork in the road.

I shook off the thoughts of the birthday party from hell as I entered the northern suburbs of Phoenix, checking my review mirror to shift lanes to the Phoenix airport exit, on yet another rescue mission of my fragile, crazy brother.

This was my first time using that confusing and poorly laid out Phoenix airport.  I realized in my haste that I accidentally chose to the bus for wrong terminal.  The airport terminal bus driver, a man of eastern decent was making too busy making jokes, jokes none of which we white bread passengers found funny, to notice me trying to catch his attention.  It was like he had a captive audience for his bad comedy routine and he was not present for his real job.  Stupidly, I took his bad joke making thinking his humor made him kind. So I explained to the bus driver, “I got on the wrong bus for catching an American Airlines flight, sir.  I am on a medical emergency to see a brother who might be dying of a bleeding ulcer, losing all the blood in his body and needing 11 bags of blood.  I need to get to the right terminal, please.”

The bus driver’s reaction to my family emergency?  He pulled to bus over to chat up a security guard buddy on the curb at the next stop, thus delaying me further.  After his security guard pal reminded the joker Hertz driver that he had a nervous passenger waiting, the driver only offered to drive me to another terminal waiting area to catch another bus not the right terminal, mind you, just one along his route back to the parking lot.

Shocked at his glib shabby treatment, I again explained again how critical my brother’s condition was.  I pleaded, “Call your supervisor.  Just a short extra ride to the America Air terminal could mean me being able to say good-bye to a dying brother.”

Looking smug, relishing in my pain, the Hertz driver said with almost a giggle, “Not to worry, sir. The transfer bus is right behind me.  See?  You will catch your plane easily.”

Based on that promise I exited the Hertz bus in the 100 plus temp.  But, you guessed it, the Hertz driver was a trickster and the bus behind him raced right past me.  I waited a painful unnecessary 20 minutes for the transfer bus, trying to keep calm as I had visions of my brother dying without me at his side.

Drenched in sweat and badly dehydrating in the dry Phoenix air, I arrived at the American ticket counter to get my boarding pass.  I explained to the young female AA agent about my medical emergency.  The agent simply gave me my boarding pass and warned it was tight and they may  close off the flight before I got to the gate, in which case I’d be wait listed to a later flight.  “Please call the gate and tell them to hold the flight for me,” I asked.

“Sorry, sir.  We can’t do that.” said the AA ticket agent, at least with some heart.  No time to argue, off I ran for the gate.

To their credit the TSA people rushed me through upon hearing my brother’s plight.  Shocker to see TSA behave more kindly than Hertz and AA personnel.  I ran through the terminal for the gate, dodging passengers and baggage.  As fate would have it, my gate was at the end of the big terminal.

Panting and totally covered sweat, I nonetheless arrived at the gate 15 minutes before scheduled departure.  The AA gate agent, a heavy-set blonde woman with ice-cold black eyes, said, “Sorry sir, we have closed the flight.”

I pointed dramatically saying,  “There’s the plane. It’s still at the gate!”  I looked at my watch.  “There’s still 15 minutes until you are scheduled to depart.  Call the pilot.  He can re-extend the gangplank for me.  I have a brother near death, bleeding ulcers, I need to be on this flight, please, ma’am.”

This was not my day.  And so the AA gate agent coldly said, “Sorry, sir.  I will not call the pilot for you.  Against policy.”

Outraged she wouldn’t even make a try, I asked for her name.  At that point the gate agent silently did a comedic about-face worthy of Peter Sellers and escaped into the gangplank without giving me the dignity of obtaining her name.

1264302_10151688559572029_1233339662_o No agent to speak to or comfort me in an hour of family need, I walked to the window in despair and took this still photo of the plane. I also took a video as the plane just sat there for 15 minutes as I watched helplessly.  I posted it to YouTube under the title “Heartless Hertz and American Airlines”  It had 35,000 views before YouTube removed the video with no explanation.  But I can guess the reason.  These two giants are big sponsors on YouTube.  My heartbreaking video where I was emotional about missing the flight was going viral.  Sadly, it was a direct upload and is lost now forever.

I sat in shambles at the airport when my cell phone began to ring in my backpack.  Thinking it might be more about the medical emergency I hastily dumped the entire backpack contents onto the floor and grabbed my phone.

Sure enough it was my brother’s son, my favorite and only nephew.  He reported his father’s condition looked rocky but stable for the moment.  The docs were saying my bother was not out of the woods yet as the two bleeding ulcers were huge.  My nephew explained he’d made arrangements for me to take care of his dad’s apartment and would give me keys at the hospital.

I almost started to cry as I explained to my 28-year-old nephew, who was the host of my 1996 election show that would air on PBS, when he was only 11, his first paying job in life, that I had missed my flight due to not one but two heartless corporations.  I would be lucky to be in Kenosha by 1AM and I told Joe to do what he felt right.  But that if I made it on the next flight out, 5PM that AA had me on a wait list for, note wait list, no guarantees despite all that was going on, that I would grab a hotel for the night and get my brother’s keys the next day.

I made the 5 PM flight and was in Chicago and out of the Hertz store with wheels for the drive to Kenosha by 11:30 PM.  I decided to go straight to the hospital and booked a room on my mobile app from Priceline.  I made it to the hospital at 12:30 AM.  Fortunately, my body was still on west coast time and I was not tired, having napped on the 3 hour flight without the once nice meals.  Not even pretzels anymore!

When I entered the ICU I was struck by how badly bloated my brother looked.  He was on full life support in an induced coma.  They say that people in a coma can hear you and so I said, “Get well, little bro. Your big brother is here.”

Those of you who follow my work know I do planetary scale Reiki healing work called DreamShield.  Now, I had a very personal Reiki healing to do.  As I worked the Rieki I’d learned in LA I saw an angel join their energy to his.  I was told my brother would recover fully and not to worry.

Texts and messages of support on FB balanced out the negative effects to Hertz and American Airlines. It was 2 AM when I collapsed into my bed at the hotel on the Kenosha harbor.  The view of Lake Michigan was gorgeous for the ten seconds it took me to fall asleep.

The next day when I returned to the hospital my brother was off life support.  Though he was still deep in drug induced coma my spirits brightened.  My brother had dodged another bullet and was going to live.  A personable young Indian doctor told me how the two large ulcers had been cauterized and that he was doing well, but that this was not the optimal surgery.  Removing the affected intestines was the preferred surgery.  But he explained that my brother had lost so much blood when he was brought in that they chose the least stressful surgery.  Then his sweet face turned more serious and he said, “You brother is highly addicted to alcohol and is having such severe withdrawal systems he must be kept in this coma or he will burst his surgery.  And if he drinks again the ulcers will kill him next time.  This is his last ride on the recovery merry-go-round”

I nodded somberly, recalling how fast my brother had fallen after his summer awakening.  “Drinking and awakening don’t mix,”I thought to myself.  I could not picture my brother without a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other.  How he would ever never take a drink again was a mystery.  I had donated 100 videos to a recovery radio station run by a human angel named Bradley Quick and learned some things about recovery.  In 2011 I had been invited to Nashville to do a DreamShield meditation to end addiction in the world.  But could I do for my brother, getting him to quit drinking and drugging, what I’d never been able along with Mom to get our dad to do.

I had a lot of time to ponder these painful thoughts as I watched over my brother. I thought sadly how he had been planning to see me in Sedona for my birthday on September 21st, just two weeks from when all this was happening.  My brother began awakening from the old world over the summer of 2013.  At first it was exciting to hear him say how amazing it was for him.  The new powers and energies he was feeling.

However, the stress of awakening on him became been enormous for his fragile nature of an abused childhood he had never dealt with, unlike me an explorer of many forms of therapy, from EMDR, to Anger Management, to psychotherapy, and finally spirit work .  Without any of this grounding his awakening turned dark and set him self-medicating with God knows what.  The more I talked to my brother on the phone, as we planned his trip to Sedona for my birthday, the more imbalanced he sounded, and the more anger crept into our talks.  I called our mother to tell her of my worries that my brother was falling back into addictions that had ended him in jail in 1990.  Next call I confronted my brother, who has an epic dark side when he’s drinking and drugging, that I could tell he was off the wagon and he hung up on me.  When he missed our weekly calls twice and was not returning my calls, I worried more.

I recalled the brother who was so unpredictable as a kid, loving to me one moment as my closest pal, then laughing at me behind Dad’s leg as I was beaten to within inches of my life.  My guess is my brother suffers from un-diagnosed bi-polar disorder like I believe our father did.  It was a common bond with my Dad that I happily never shared.

To top off my brother’s dual nature is the fact he is a Gemini. Often I hear stories of terrible things my brother has been doing and, like my mom, because of his amazing sweet side and sadness, I tended to repress them in the past.  Now, I was no longer fooling myself and I could feel something awful was going to happen to my brother, perhaps jail again as in 1990.  Perhaps something worse with this new energy of the awakening distorted within.

So when my nephew called about the ulcers and the near death I was not surprised.  I did not hesitate on coming.  My guides said he needed my healing gifts if he was to live.  Now, instead, of a birthday visit to Sedona, here I was on what would become a 1o day visit to help him heal from ulcers predicated by a stressful life under an abusive father, who passed in 2011 while I was in transit on a meditation to Nashville to combat addiction in Nashville.  My brother and I had made peace with our father after a heart transplant literally changed him into a better person and gave him an extra 10 years of life.

But the wounds of a childhood of constant 24/7 abuse for 18 years of PST that he’d never faced and lost in booze in drugs were, I could see reading my brother’s comatose face as he moaned and groaned like a ghost, literally ripping him apart.  I spoke words of encouragement to my unconscious brother to let go of the past, hoping in his dream like state my words my get past his barriers for dealing with his dark childhood.

My nephew joined the coma-watch after his work day ended.  As we sat among the beeping monitors we talked about his father’s painful past.  How this rage must be drained if he ever recovered.  How meditation and lots of therapy had been my solution and would work for him.  My nephew thinks I am little crazy, like my two absentee kids, with all my visions and meditations I do for healing the planet, like the big one that took me all the way to Antarctica for 12.12.12.  Now, I could see hope and respect on his handsome young face.

My brother loved his beer but it gave him a headaches.  Combined with Excedrin he took to relive those headache the doctor, who said Excedrin should be an illegal drug, explained it had burned two holes in my brother’s stomach. Once again, I saw the pattern of heartless corporations again at work, bleeding ulcers, brought to you by the makers of Excedrin and Miller Light Beer.

A doctor was working for a giant medical corporation called Aurora Healthcare.  However, I read the energy of the ER staff.  All angelic and caring luckily.  My brother was in as good of hands as one can expect today.  The virus of corporations hiring heartless workers had not spread here in this ER in Kenosha near the shores of Lake Michigan where my brother and I played each day as kids on the beach to escape our crazy home life.

My nephew said good night and I continued on watching over my coma-brother.  Though he was off life support now, he was restless all day.  Shortly after his son left my brother became highly agitated in his coma.  I closed my Mac, where I was doing my best to continue doing my work for PhiSciences and the hit web series I’d created with Patrick Flanagan.  The great scientist had been looking forward to meeting my brother in Sedona. I slowly walked over the ICU bed, where nearly a dozen IV bottles filled him with drugs to keep my brother under and healing the delicate surgery on his ulcers as if in a nightmare where you have that feeling some monster lurks in the dark.  My brother was supper stressed looking, gagging suddenly.

Worried, I walked out to the nursing station and told the nurse that something was wrong with my brother.  The sweet little nurse a stocky young woman, no taller than 5 feet, humored me and reluctantly came into Fred’s ICU.  “Look up there, Mr. Sheetz, ” she said to me like she was talking to a ninny, “That’s a camera. We see all that’s going on.  Relax.”

Relax I could not and said, “Look at his breathing. He choking on his tongue.  See how he’s straining to breathe?  Can’t be good for the cauterization surgery.” I get amazingly calm in tough spots.  A survival skill I had to develop when my father lost his marbles every few days.  It was a bad sign I was so calm.  Big trouble had to be on the way.  My body knows these things before my brain.

My brother gagged on his tongue again as if on cue for the young nurse.  The veins on his neck showed how difficult a time he was having getting air.

“Look at the oxygen levels, Mr. Sheetz.  Your brother blood oxygen is 90%.  That’s very good for someone in his condition of losing so much blood a few days ago.” the young nurse said.

“My brother is an amazing swimmer.  He is simply breathing deep when he can in the coma and battling the tongue.  Maybe you should have left him on full life support.” I said, surprised how clearly I could see this with no medical training while this nurse was in some kind of denial.  I did not give a crap about her feelings.  My brother’s life was at stake and his agitation was growing worse.

“OK.  We will look into it, Mr. Sheetz.” the nurse said finally seeing how the situation looked worse by second.  He was sweating now and pale as a ghost.

I stroked his forehead and said, “Take it easy, bro.  They’re getting the doctor now.  You gotta relax, buddy, or the surgery won’t hold.”

Just then the nurse and I noticed at the same time a tiny dot of blood on the sheet covering Fred, between his legs.  The nurse pulled back the sheet… black clotted blood filled the entire bed area from lower torso to his toes!

“On my god!” I shouted.  The words pouring out of me like a single word “OHMYGOD!”

“You have to leave the room, Mr. Sheetz!” said the nurse.

I agreed but watched on from the hall as every life support alarm on my brother blared now.

I couldn’t look.  My brother was dying.  I felt it so profoundly.  I walked up the hall and called his son.  “The surgery ruptured. Your father is in grave danger.”

“I just got home.  Are you sure, Uncle Ken?” said my nephew, in shock having gone through near death with his father 2 days ago for the same ulcers.

As if on cue the PA blared.  “Medical emergency room 116.  Crash cart team room 116!”

“I’m on my way!” said my nephew, knowing his father’s ICU room number.

“Speed, Joe.  If a cop pulls you over, make them escort you.  He may not last much longer!”

As I ended the call I began seeing flashes of the good times my bother and I had shared as kids.  How he reached his hand across the nightstand to comfort me as our drunken father stumbled through the house after waking us all with his rantings to God.  How my brother ran for our father’s help when I fell through the ice in the forest behind our St. Francis backyard.

Then I realized the POVs of these memories were not mine but my brother’s.  I spun and saw the glowing spirit of my little brother, age 8.  “Get back in your body!” I commanded my brother’s confused little spirit.  Weeping, I thrust out my hand.  “Here!  Take my hand.  Let me lead you back.”  The dazed spirit of my little brother took my hand and I walked it him up the long hallways and back to the ICU where his 59 year-old body lay near death.

A doctor walked up to me as I watched his little boy self’s spirit slip back into my brother’s body as he convulsed in racking seizures.  The doctor looked like a cousin of Kevin Spacey and has the same no-nonsense manner.  We eyed each other up in a nanosecond and knew we liked each other. “I’m Dr. Needle — yeah, don’t laugh — the surgeon on this case.  You’re the patient’s brother?” To my handshake and nod Dr. Needle added. “Looks grim.  Your brother’s odds of living are slim at best. Prepare yourself for him to go into cardiac arrest any second now from.  He’s lost almost all the blood in his body.  The cauterization I did Tuesday has all ruptured.  He’s bled into his intestines and evacuated it out his anus in one gush.  Do you give consent to revive him if he flatlines?”

“I give consent for you to do anything and everything to save my brother.  I can’t think of a doctor with a better name to be his surgeon than Dr. Needle.  You radiate competence.  You’ll save my brother.  I have 100% faith in you.” I said.  I am a huge fan of book called BLINK.  BLINK tells of how we form complete assessments of character in the time it takes to blink.  It’s in second guessing ourselves that we go wrong.

Dr. Needle smiled at may calm nature and asked, “Would you like to be in the room while we try to stabilize him?”

“Yes.” I said without hesitation despite the horrors I knew I’d be in for.

“OK, wait here.  I’ll give you the signal when you can come in.

Soon, Dr. Needle waved me into my brother’s, now crowded, ICU room.  I’ve seen ER shows on TV.  Now I realized what bad “acting” all that was.  Here were a group of nurses, doctors and orderlies, some literally praying with folded hands and closed eyes, for my brother to survive.

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

Paradise Lost in LA

“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

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Hypnotherapist Peter Bedard CreateYourHealth.com

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.

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Lucifer Takes His Throne Milton’s “Paradise Lost”

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.

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Paradise Lost

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.

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Lucifer’s Fall from Milton’s “Paradise Lost”

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.