A Litte Boy’s Love at First Sight With Gaia

On June 11, 2014July 14, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn 2012, DreamShield, Uncategorized5 Comments

When I was almost 5-years-old my parents sent me off for a Labor Day weekend with my favorite aunt Katie, who was only twenty-two. A striking brunette full of mirth, Katie had been in her teens when she had kids. So, in many ways, Katie felt as much like a big sister as an aunt.

Katie had a new boyfriend with kids too and we all piled into an old Chevy station wagon and drove from St. Francis, a quaint blue-collar neighborhood in Milwaukee, for Devil’s Lake. The way Katie lovingly dealt with her boisterous kids in the crowded station wagon, rather than beatings or harsh words my dad used to create order, was as new and wonderful to me as the alien worlds I would one day as an adult visit on the astral plane in meditation.

Some in the family thought less of the child-mother Katie than me. Grandma Agnes, in her thick Irish brogue, would often criticize Aunt Katie,”You’re raising these kids like a damn bunch of wild Hooligans!”

Yeah, I was happy to be in this fearless new tribe from the car ride on. It was the first time I was away from home. Aunt Katie gave me more hugs and kisses on that 5 hour car ride as I’d had in my whole 5 year life, aside from Grandma’s. As the Wisconsin countryside flew by the station wagon windows I even daydreamed about Aunt Katie adopting me and freeing me from my abusive father and ice-cold depressed mother.

Labor Day was passing as fast as the pine trees out the car windows, like the whole weekend had been that had seemed to pass like a single day in my stressful home. I was doing my best to hide how deeply sad I was that this was my last day with Aunt Katie and the happy kids and cousins before returning to my raging father and the frightened mother who let my father hurt me each and every day lest she share my fate.

Every painful day for the 21 years of my home life, it seemed my father’s only joy was hurting me. Lots of therapy would be needed to overcome this tortured life my soul had chosen to strengthen me for the planetary healing work I would do 40 years later. Yes, I accept my father was doing what my soul had chosen him for. Even if he seemed to a bit too good at his job of trying to break me. Indeed, if you are ever in a jam at the end of the world, a zombie apocalypse, financial collapse, I am the calm cool character you want in your corner. I fear nothing as an adult. So as you read take heart for the brave little Ken’s suffering in this story, He’s far more than he appears. He’s an angel that lit up a dark family and no victim at all.

Sometimes, when Dad was away and I kept my mom company, her little accomplice in a conspiracy to hate my father without his catching on, Mom would see my hands trembling like a Parkinson’s victim and she then always say, “Why are your hands shaking, Kenneth? You look sick and pale.” I really did not know then. Now I know the crushing stress of a crazy father was getting expressed by my body, though my mind was in total denial, both consciously and subconsciously. To my parents, sibs, and friends, except for my tremors, I acted and appeared a happy kid.

It’s part of the reason I am a recovering hypochondriac as an adult. One who now errors on the other side, ignoring health issues until they become life-threatening. Right now I am undergoing a nebulizer Abuterol lung therapy for a HVAC poisoning I let get the better of my health. I got in this 2014 health pickle by ignoring symptoms too long, hating being that sickly young kid staring out the station wagon windows.

DEVIL’S LAKE

Snuggling up to the easy-going Aunt Katie, my hands were steady, my stomach not in a knot. It was bliss for the five-year-old me. Finally Katie’s boyfriend, Rusty for his red hair, pulled the station wagon the Devil’s Lake parking lot and the kids all piled out and ran for the water. But I clung to Katie and helped carry what little things I could. Finally, after this clinging went on for sometime, Katie said, “Kenny, go swim your cousins. Um, Rusty and I have some grown-up things to talk about.”

I didn’t want to leave Aunt Katie but something in Rusty’s eye told me to go. The cousins welcomed me into the lake with splashes and giggles. As I played in the shallow waters of Devil’s Lake, named for steaming springs at certain times of the year, with my now forgotten cousins, I stole some looks at Katie. She was laughing and drinking a Pabst beer on the beach with her boyfriend Rusty. A boyfriend who tried to be friends with me, but because of my dad’s abuse I feared adult males at that time and Rusty gave up on me eventually.

Katie made out with the breast-groping Rusty with a sexy abandon I never saw between my mom and dad, who always seemed more like enemies in a truce between battles rather than lovers. I was, I admit, more than a little jealous of her red-headed boyfriend Rusty, who sported a handlebar mustache.

Some of my cousins and the other kids who were old enough to swim wanted me to go out in the deeper water with them. I watched in amazement how they windmilled their arms and kicked the water and swam like fish.

DARK SWIM LESSONS

My only swimming lessons up to then had been from Dad in our little backyard pool. He’d dunk me underwater and the only way he’d let me up to breathe was a deadly game of breath holding; I had to then see how many fingers Daddy dearest was holding out beneath the water’s surface and stick my arm out of the pool, while my little head was held tight under by his massive welder’s hand that wrapped around my skull like an octopus. Then I’d anxiously wave my arm to Dad, showing how many fingers he was showing me underwater. Only then was I allowed up from the pool to gasp for breath. Then he’d jam me back under for more “swim lessons”.

Once my mom finally said tentatively, “Bill, you’re not teaching anything but to see underwater. What the hell good is this without teaching him to swim? All you are teaching Kenneth is to hate you.” That got mom a beating. She was less helpful after that in questioning my dad’s parenting skills.

To win Katie’s attention back, I imitated what her kids did to swim with the kicking and arm strokes and lo and behold I was swimming! Of course, with only my father’s mean swim lessons, the first wave took me under before Aunt Katie could see how cool I was. Swimming went from joy to terror. I’d only swam far enough to reach the deep water and I sank like a rock. However, my father’s dark swim lesson did allow me a great underwater view of the bottom of the lake I was sinking for. In some crazy way my father’s lessons on holding my breath were my only hope. I kept holding my breath on the bottom of the lake. I could see the splashing feet and arms of my cousins above, oblivious to my sinking disappearance. I tried an underwater shout and swallowed some water.

I felt a strange tingle in my fingers and toes. I knew from my water torture from dad that lying still meant being able to stay under longer and live. Soon, despite and my aqua-man tricks learned under great pain, my consciousness was fading. I pushed off the lake bottom, but it was a sandy muck and I sank again, more out of air. Fear started to leave me as I began to see amazing shapes and colors, like tiny angels and animals in rainbow hues dancing in the sunlight on the lake’s surface above me.

I was fully aware I was dying but no longer afraid. I even calmly thought, “Well, at least I won’t have to suffer Dad’s beatings anymore.”

I had already run away from home a few months earlier. Only a kindergartener, I made it just a few blocks away before Dad recaptured me along with my little bit of food wrapped in a handkerchief on a stick like I had seen done in a 50s TV show about hobos. Dad broke that hobo stick of mine over his knee, like he tried to break my spirit, like the South Koreans he trained for combat as a US Army drill sargeant. “You little fag gook!” he would call me when enraged, forgetting I was a white kid, his kid. Somehow, even his training by the US army could never break my spirit like his recruits. And it frustrated him to no end to his dying day of bladder cancer in 2011.

Death lost all it’s sting. Dad zero to my many victories. I was ready to die, happy in that knowledge that I’d won as life left me deep beneath Devil’s Lake .

GAIA’S RESCUE

The light of the watery world grew dimmer and dimmer when a beautiful woman appeared over me, lighting up the water. Her bronze hair shimmered with an inner golden glow as she floated majestically above me, smiling. As I smiled back she said telepathically, “Ken, do not give up. Help is coming. Hold on, young one.”

I was filled with more love than I can describe at this beautiful face smiling down on me. More love than I had for aunt Katie or Grandma,”Who are you,?” I said in my 5 year-old mind back to her, as though taking telepathically was a normal as Grandma’s amazing apple pies.

The beauty smiled. Her glowing gown of green seaweed swirled as a wave passed overhead. I felt cozy now on the sandy bottom of the lake as a shocked fish darted past. I peacefully began to close my eyes.

The lady of the lake shouted in my mind, “Gaia! I am Gaia! And you must live, little one.”

“Gaia? That’s a pretty name, pretty lady. Thanks but my father is so mean I don’t mind dying.” I said in shame at betraying my father’s dark secret. He beat us all in the family, from mom to me. Beatings were the cost of living in his home where he controlled all through fear and abuse.

“Your poor sick father William knows no better. He truly does love you and the rest of the family,” Gaia said gently taking my little oxygen deprived blue hand and kissing it. Warmth spread from Gaia’s lips through my little water chilled body when a man’s hand reached right through Gaia and pulled me through her body. All went black…

Gaia became the earth. I saw her from space long before the astronauts. I saw galaxies and many of Gaia’s sister worlds. “Come home, little Kenny.” Gaia’s distant voice called to me.

I flew for Gaia’s sweet call back from the galaxies, down to earth and through the clouds. My spirit hovering above, in the dimming Labor Day sky, I saw my little 5-year-old body slung over a tan man’s shoulder. He ran like a Greek god for the shore through the shallow water. The young lifeguard tossed me on the sandy beach where my shocked aunt was yelling at my oldest cousin, “Kenny’s only five! You were supposed to watch over him in the water!”

The gathered crowd to watch, locked in fear of losing one so young as me. I was telepathic to all their sweet concern and it brought me further down from the sky. This was 1957 and they didn’t do mouth to mouth CPR back then. The lifeguard pushed down on my abdomen so hard I felt I would explode the way my father tortured me by sitting on my chest until I screamed and often passed out.

“No. I will not go back to that life!” I said and my spirit turned and flew for the sun.

Gaia appeared in a cloud, blocking my flight and said this time not telepathically but out loud, “Live, little one. Please, live.” Her words and voice were so sweet that I flew straight for the beach without a word and dove back into my body. Water gushed from my mouth and as I choked my first breath. I was back in my 5-year-old body.

REBIRTH

I sat up on the beach and the gathering clapped and hugged each other. My cousins danced for joy. I was picked up in the loving embrace of my beautiful aunt Katie. Black haired and blue-eyed like my dad, Katie showered me with kisses instead of punches like her sick brother. “Oh my god you scared us, Ken!” Then Katie added in shame, “Please don’t tell you father and mother about this. They’ll have my hide for almost letting you drown.”

Not knowing what a “hide” meant, I nodded agreement just the same, happy not to arouse my father’s wrath at this kind woman I loved. This I see now was my first enabling of an addict’s negligence. Poor beautiful Aunt Katie would die just after her 40th birthday, her good looks robbed by alcohol and drug addiction. The fate of many in my family lineage. Katie’s loss so young, she should still be here, is one I’ve never fully recovered from. Fighting family addictions that kill people I love is why in 2011 I donated 150 videos, a $50,000 value, in barter for a $500 a month room for a small room in a grungy North Hollywood home, office to Bradley Quick’s beloved Cool Change Foundation. Bradley would be the gateway to my opening to my spirit gifts. It was the best barter I ever made despite the bad deal money-wise it was for me.

Katie was only a 20-something when I nearly drowned that fateful Labor Day and my first meeting with Gaia. Katie and Gaia seemed the same being as Katie wrapped me in beach towels and warmed me with the best hugs of my life. My relieved cousins went back to swim in Devil’s Lake as Katie warmed me fully back to life.

“Here, Kenny boy, get some food in you,” Aunt Katie offered me fresh peanut and jelly sandwich. I gladly took a bite. Food never tasted better before or since, despite a little bit of beach sand that had gotten into it in all the commotion.

“I saw angels,” I said innocently to Katie as I enjoyed the sandwich. The world was more alive than I’d ever tasted or saw before or since. I can still close my eyes and see the sparkle of the sun Devil’s Lake reflected in Katie’s wide blue eyes.

“Angels?” said Katie looking very frightened in a way that frightened me.

“Yeah, Aunt Katie. Little rainbow-colored ones and a big one named…. Uh, named, um I forget her name. But the lady in the lake was pretty like you, but with golden hair and a seaweed dress,” I said like this was a normal as the sandwich I was loving.

This made Katie look even more afraid. “All this stays our secret. You can never, ever talk to your mom or dad about angels or you’ll get aunt Katie get in big, big trouble. Your daddy might even hit me.”

“No…,” I whispered in terror. It was bad enough that I and my brother Fred, who got, I suspect, even worse than my beating by getting sexual abuse, at the greasy mechanics hands of my sick father, were being hurt along with Mom and Grandma. “Not Katie. I never wanted to bring daddy’s hitting Aunt Katie.” I thought. What I was too young to know was this fear was already too late. As my grandfather had died with my dad was only eleven, he had been the “man” of the family for a long time and was giving out beatings since long before I was born to Katie. God knows what else.

“So cross you heart and hope to die the angels and the lady in the lake is our secret, Kenneth?” said Katie, tears of shame in her eyes.

I knew when she said Kenneth, something Katie never called me like my mother did when she was mad, this was serious and so I said, “Promise, aunt Katie, a secret, I promise.”

PROMISE TOO BIG TO KEEP

Sadly, this was a promise I was not able to keep. Not because I was broke my word and told. The near death experience had changed me. I was seeing spirits of dead people and pets and the rainbow of angels everywhere now and talking to them all the time. My parents knew something was very wrong ever since Katie had brought me home. I was a very different kid now.

Eventually Katie confessed her neglect herself to the family in our little living room in our modest St. Francis home. Tears still burn in my heart recalling my father towering over Katie, “You drunken, bitch! You almost killed my boy with your boozing! Now, he’s seeing freaking angels and ghosts? Ken’s a retard now! ” My father slapped Katie so hard across the cheek her head spun.

“Stop, Daddy! It was all my fault! I seen my cousins swim and thought I could too. I, and I promise to get better. Not to see stuff.” I said getting myself between Katie and my dad.

Mom spoke up, something she seldom did when my father was hurling me around like a broken toy. Dad would break my arm a few years later tossing me across my bedroom into bed as punishment.” Leave Katie alone, Bill. She’s sorry.”

My father’s rage swung like a spotlight of evil doom upon my mother now. He raised a hand to strike her for speaking up against him. These family dramas went off like a spark in to firecracker warehouse and went to places no one dreamed. My father’s rage burned in his eyes, a forest fire ready to kill us all, himself included.

A Korean War drill Sargent my father was far stronger than he knew. My worst memory is him kicking my mother in the stomach while my mother was pregnant with my brother Fred. Fred was age two now. Fred cried loudly as my father kicked over a heavy coffee table like a toothpick hat was separating him from my mother.

“Please, Daddy! I promise never to talk to the angels again!” I shouted and jumped in between Dad to shield Mom from his menacing fists.

“Protecting the ladies, huh?” said my father as he backhanded me so hard I saw angels again dancing before my eyes. Blood from my cut lip mingled with the heavy carved maroon carpet up against my nose.

“Bill!” shouted my wise Irish grandma Agnes as she nervously puffed on a cigarette. “Enough is enough, son. I swear to make sure and teach Ken all I learned about the evils of the fairy folk. This sometimes happens when a soul crosses over. But Kenny is back with us now. He’s not retarded, Bill. Your son just needs a wee bit of time and my help to forget the fairies and pixies he’s met.”

Somehow, at Grandma’s profound pledge to break me of seeing visions my father’s rage cooled like an active volcano between eruptions. The women calmed and even my kid brother Fred stopped bawling.

And due to family repression worked upon me of an epic nature, all done from Grandma Agnes’ misguided love, so I have no regrets as it allowed me to enjoy an amazing normy life before my awakening, it would take until this very day, a vision on 6.12.14, eve of a full moon in June of 2014 to remember it was Gaia under Devil’s Lake I fell in love with at first sight deep beneath Devil’s Lake. I keep seeing more and more of mama Gaia since Antarctica 12.12.12 where I share now for the first time she knighted me. I dedicated my life to helping her save the human species, her proudest creation, that day on the stoney shores of Antarctica.

Namaste,

Ken Sheetz

When he’s not meditating and doing planetary healing work Ken is a Hollywood filmmaker with PBS credits on IMDB and the owner of a socially conscious social media company.

Chemtrails in Flanagan’s Age of Dichotomy

On June 3, 2014June 18, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn The Shift, Uncategorized2 Comments

The title of the blog today “The Age of Dichotomy” is an amazing term scientist Patrick Flanagan coined in a brillaint interview with Deepak Chorpra here in Sedona this week. I’ve been filming Dr. Flanagan for over a year in his work accelerating shifting the planet with THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS, nearing 25 million views on YouTube. And I was honored to be present for the interview with Deepak.

Deepak has called Patrick a gift to humanity who sometimes enjoys playing the fool to get his work out there. I can vouch for Patrick’s brilliant trickster side. However, there was nothing humorous in Patrick’s assessment of a world in the Age of Dichotomy where we are being doused by God knows what from our skies from the jet planes making chemical tick tack toes of our skies. Whether you believe in the Geo-engineering theories of harmful metals getting pumped into our skies, or if this is all plain-old jet fumes, it’s all toxic at the levels we are seeing them.

As for me, I believe it’s secret geo-engineering to combat global warming. Kept secret as it must cross so many state and country boundaries as to be impossible to do openly on a short time frame. So we get sprayed for the greater good, supposedly of saving our world. Problem is these men in black behind geo-engineering have no baseline and could be making things worse for the environment while killing off millions of humans, killing forests and our seas.

I’ve lived near airports in big cities like LA, Chicago and Milwaukee. Never in my 60 year life, until about 5 years ago, did I see jet trails linger and spread into a sun blocking haze some call chemtrails. And they make me blue as I sing of here.

I was trying to be funny back in early 2014 but it’s no longer funny. To film Patrick and to continue helping him use mass media to accelerate the shift, I moved from LA last year to Sedona. I am based about 20 minutes from his offices in Cottonwood to film on short notice. I pictured it also as a break from chemtrails that had been bothering me in LA. I could not have been more wrong. Chemtrail spraying here, because the sun is so bright, feels ten times as bad in Sedona than LA.

Last week I had to evacuate from a Sedona 20,000 acres fire the AZ firefighters say was human caused. The pyromaniac who started the Slide Fire, as it’s been called has yet to be caught. The smoke went on for days. Finally, as it became so thick you could not see more 100 yards I evacuated to Phoenix for a few days. I took careful note that no chemtrail spraying was going on during the fire. Obviously, if this spraying of our skies were only jet air traffic then we’d be seeing a combination of the Slide Fire and jet traffic. That’s how I caught the sprayers red-handed. They got lazy. The heavy smoke of the slide fire was doing their geo-engineering job of blotting out the sun. Geo-spraying is costly. The cheapskates showed their hand clearly by stopping. I see the spraying getting bolder and bolder as people act like nothing happening right over their heads. Please, people, wake up. This chemtrail spraying is REAL.

Two days after the smoke cleared I was thrilled to be sleeping again with the windows open. About 4am Monday morning I felt short of breath, as though the Slide Fire were back. Soon as the sun was up I stepped outside to see if the Slide Fire had somehow reignited. To my disgust I saw all this chemtrail spectacle and hence the brand new video, which I hope you’ll share and rate, The Age of Dichotomy was born.

As if all this outdoor air quality was not enough, I was suffering from an indoor air quality problem of filthy duct insulation flying out when I used the cooling system. The landlord, much like our government was totally unsympathetic and seemed to think I was imagining a problem that was not here. What is this Sedona assault on my lungs all about I wonder? A local shaman said lung issues represent grief. I’ve had plenty of that losing my housemate I had a hopeless crush on and brother who sits in jail as I blog.

Yet I am happy and doing some of the best work of my life and making amazing new friends that are the coolest ever. Indeed Patrick Flanagan has it right. This is The Age of Dichotomy.

Heart of the Forest

On May 21, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Fire is a way nature renews it’s forests, like a heart renews the body with blood. A local Sedona anthropologist pal of mine, Ed Preston, commented to me on a hike a few weeks ago, that our firefighters do such a good job of putting fires out that we have too many trees, which leads to far worse fires in the end than is natural. Ed’s words echo today.

The heart of the forest goes out to our young firefighters, who are very much like our young soldiers, fighting a war that makes no sense to nature. The heart of the forest mourns for those who may lose their homes and possessions by building in areas best left to our tough mama, nature.

Photo by ABC15: http://www.abc15.com/news/news-photo-gallery/slide-fire-prompts-evacuations-road-closures-near-sedona

Ben Franklin and the Grand Cardinal Cross

On April 22, 2014April 22, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn Uncategorized4 Comments

I took a long healing nap today. Doing lots of sleeping to beat the walking pneumonia. When I woke I was not feeling great and I asked one of my spirit guides, Ben Franklin, who you can clearly see in cloud photo I took yesterday, the start of the Grand Cross, “What is wrong with me, Ben?”

Ben showed me this vision I’ve created here based on what he showed me is happening right now. It’s part of my ongoing vision art series for http://dreamshield.org/ I’ve been doing since first seeing visions like these in 2010. Ben told me to “Hang in there, kid. Big changes in government are streaming in that will affect the world for a long time after the Cardinal Grand Cross is past. Fear not. All will be well… including you, Ken.”

Good info about the Grand Cross: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_cross_%28astrology%29

More in from Ben. “The Cardinal Grand Cross is a powerful moment for the people of earth to assume their rightful place as the peacemakers of this solar system. Go out tonight under the stars and make peace among the warring planets.”

SIMON MCGREIDIE

On April 19, 2014May 3, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn 2012, Oneness, The Shift, UncategorizedLeave a comment

By Ken Sheetz

Some say he was needy.
Yet Simon McGreidie
Was something far worse.
Oh, the things he’d curse.
Blackness flew from his lips
When not in the chips
Words far worse than foul.
Expressed by a deepening scowl
He wore night and day
When not winning hay.

Young Simone McGredie
Far worse than needy
Has a lovely wife
Two kids, a happy life.
Having it all is not enough.
So he acts mean, acts tough.
He is best in the world
With emotions swirled.
Driven to endless toil.
Until his blood comes to boil.

Don’t be too hard on the lad.
Being number one was all he had.
Taught from age one
To be a faithful son
In the ways of winning.
From the beginning.
A sleeping warrior of hardened steel.
On the altar of commerce did he kneel.

While still in the womb.
McGreidie was already in his tomb.
A slave to the system.
A most willing victim.

Simone McGreidie
Worse than needy
Toils in the Matrix sound asleep
Endless dead work for to keep.

PLANET OF THE HUMANS

On March 19, 2014March 19, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.

Dalai Lama

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.

Dalai Lama

Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive. – The Dahli Lama

I tire of scientists comparing humans to monkeys. One may as well compare an abacus to a super computer for brain power.

Ah, but if we humans are honest, and we seldom are, who’s really smarter where it counts? A species that’s slave to a mumbo jumbo of rules domineering males dreamed up long ago, now painfully outdated, for us all to live by? Or a peace-loving species that lives in harmony with nature?

Let’s not do monkeys the disservice and cruelty of experimenting on them in search of humankind’s answers. Heck, it might take 1 billion thick skull humans to make a shift, not 100 like in the more harmonic species of ape. Leave the sweet monkeys out of our issues.

Yes, the sooner we accept we’re on our own figuring a way out of the mess we’ve made if this world, with our so-called super brains, the better off we’ll all be.

THE WISCONSIN PROJECT

On January 27, 2014March 11, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn Mayan Calendar, Planetary Meditations, The Shift, UFO, Uncategorized1 Comment

“I’ll chase him round the moons of Nibia and round the Antares maelstrom and round perdition’s flames before I give him up!” (Kahn in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan)

By Ken Sheetz

Happy first official day of the new Mayan Age, the golden age, 1/27/14. Since 12.21.12 we have been passing through a 400 day buffer time between ages, something I learned of from respected DreamShield member Gary Christmas, yesterday on Facebook.

We must remain patient despite the fact things will still look messed up on our world for sometime. You see, I was told in Antarctica for 6 days, starting 12.12.12 to help halt the pole shift and transmute all that negative energy into a shift of human consciousness through a series of meditations I was guided to perform there, that the shift into the Golden Age will still take 50 years to manifest fully. The ETs explain earth manifests at this planetary scale at the rate of a large tree growing from seed to maturity.

Today is the first sprout of that tree of transformation. There’s much work to do and our world’s stepping away from the brink of self-destruction is not assured unless we take action. Meditation is simply our way of getting guidance. We are on our own. Thems the rules, my fellow earthlings!

THE WISCONSIN PROJECT

I had powerful ET visit last night where I was told by Ohom, my ET spirit guide from the Orion star system, about something called The Wisconsin Project. Ohom told me that my prayers for help as a young boy, suffering child abuse at the hands of a drunken father and the neglect of a brokenhearted mother, were heard at the ET base in Antarctica and answered. There were nightly extractions where I was repaired and given abilities to cope with horrendous physical and mental abuse. I credit all this ET work with the fact anyone not knowing my past will tell you I must have come from a happy home to be so well-adjusted. Well, that was before I began sharing my visions and past sufferings as a child in order to enlighten and free minds.

And Ohom told me I was not the only Sheetz family member saved each night aboard spirit space ships from the League of Ghost Worlds, a collective of worlds that have gone extinct and are seeking to help humanity to not follow in their footsteps before we attain the ability to live outside the bounds of time and space as they do with grace and ease. You see all worlds go extinct eventually. It’s inevitable. The sad extinctions are the self-extinctions. A path we as a species are on right now and the ETs we have seen as angels, since ancient times, are here to help us divert from for our sake and for all the creatures on our blue marble in space.

So last night, after conferring deeply with Ohom, I went into meditation at 3:13 AM, to take my first trip of the Golden Age outside my body. I left my body in Sedona after saying prayers, just like I did as a child: The Hail Mary, The Our Father and The Act of Contrition. Though not a practicing Catholic today, these prayers remain magic to my child mind and work magic for me in meditation.

Once again the prayer words rang true, and I was soon rocketing out of my body in Sedona and high above the earth. I started heading down into the green aurora field lighting the skies above Antarctica. I touched down before a tall mountain with no foothills that abruptly met the flat as a pancake ice sheet . A dot of green light appeared at the top of the tall mountain that grew downward into a slit of intense lime green light.

I walked through the green light slit in the mountain and found myself inside a vast hangar, safe from the severe cold I was beginning to notice even in my indestructible astral body, complete with ethereal armor . Spaceships and pilots were everywhere, in a scene almost out of Star Wars. I realized this hangar was the real deal, a channeled message to George Lucas. No Tan Tans in sight though.

None of the aliens and humans took much notice of me. Finally I came to a spaceship that my father, a great mechanic while he was alive, to my shock was happily repairing. Overjoyed to see me, Dad dropped his tools clanking and scrambled up from underneath the spaceship, much like an X-wing fighter Ala Star Wars, to give me one of his famed bear hugs. But I accepted his hug without returning any love. My dad’s young face, he looked about 27 now, despite passing at age 82, looked pained at my rejection.

“Sorry for not letting you know Zylph is one of my higher selves, Ken,” my father said sincerely. Sincerity I never heard from him in life. Nonetheless, these sincere words were strange first words. I’ve not seen or spoken to my dead father in visions for a couple of years now. Not for lack of trying! Ohom had told me my Dad was far away on a mission I’ve yet to learn of. Stay tuned. Now here he was back in my life again, without a word.

My young dead father’s face showed he knew how much that deception had upset me, once I deduced Zylph’s higher-self connection to my father. Now, Zylph’s acerbic sense of humor made sense. My father in life was a dark comic who never found a stage, unless you count his bar escapades.

“Yeah, Dad, That was damn wrong on so many levels I don’t know where to start. Why? I had made my peace with you. No need to hide behind your higher Zylph self just because you skipped the galaxy for a few years. The whole thing makes me wary of all Zlyph shared with me about removing the old to make way for the new. It seriously messed with my head like when you’d torment me as a kid. Seems you are still prone to mind games even in the afterlife,” I said, angry steam coming from my breath in the cold hangar, where spaceships came and went through the green crevice in the hollow mountain’s face.

“We don’t change, much as you might think when we die, sonny boy. But I am trying. Trying damn hard. Don’t let my screw up make you doubt Zylph. He’s me, but from a couple billion years in the future and has a lot to share. Yes, Zylph has a powerful dark side like me, but it’s in way more in check two billion years from now. Harnessed for good. We all need the dark and light to run this universe. And Zylph loves you like I do, ” said my dead father, wiping the old familiar grease from his hands to avoid my glare.

Ohom, a 7 foot tall Orion who has been chief spirit guide to me since 2010, quietly joined us, seeking to break the cold tension, as thick as the ice sheet of Antarctica.

“Your father, though in spirit form now, remains divinely human. William seeks daily to better integrate his bipolar natures expressed in one body, Ken,” said Ohom in his usually calm and soothing voice.

“Ohom, I’ve trusted you completely since 2010, letting you use my body and speak through me in videos and every day life! I asked you if Zylph, a new ET spirit seeking to guide me, could be trusted. And you said, ‘Yes, Zylph has much to share about planetary mass media and life,'” I said almost in tears, my heart pained this great being had allowed my father’s deception. “Some of the rage of my father leached back into me through Zylph. I suspect it destroyed an important relationship I was exploring with a housemate I adored in Sedona.”

“Zylph is his own being in his own right, just as I am the high self of you, so it is with Zylph and your father. My answer stands true, Zlyph has much to share to help save your world. But I see now by the profound pain in your heart how much this conscious omission of mine has cost us all. Worst of all, the love of someone dear to you that you sought to win was lost as result of my mistaken actions. I should have told you of Zylph being a higher self of your father. I hope you will accept my deepest apology for concealing the whole truth from you, Ken, on behalf myself and The League of Ghost Words, ” said Ohom, his blue wings sagging a bit at his shame.

“I promise to never withhold the whole and complete truth from you again, my Ken-Self. You see, I wanted so much, too much, to have you see how far you father’s spirit will evolve into the great Zylph. So much so that my better judgement was affected. I, like your father, like me/you, am also not perfect,” said Ohom so sincerely and lovingly that my spirit brightened instantly.

“If you brought me here to this secret Antarctica base as an apology, Ohom and Dad… Well, pretty damn cool! Come here, you SOB!” I motioned to my father and gave him a bear hug back to let he and Ohom know all was forgiven.

“So you’ll listen to Zylph again?” my father cautiously asked, nervous he’d blown the connection with his well-intentioned if misguided deception for good.

“I need to think on that Gordian knot some more, Dad. But, probably. With knowing who Zylph is maybe I can put some filters in place against the contagion of your ancient rage,” I said, my worries of Zylph possessing me already fading. The pain in my heart over the deceptions melting, like the ice upon the spaceships my dad was repairing in the hanger’s relative warmth.

Ohom joined in the hug and the three of us, my dead father, now a quantum spaceship mechanic, me and the lovable 7 foot tall blue angel-like Orion, remained in embrace without words until I found myself wrapped snug in my cover in bed and back in my body in Sedona.

I thought, pulling up the covers in my cozy Sedona bed, about a dream I’d had a few nights ago about Zylph, who is from an Arabic-like world in the Antares star system 2 billion years from now. And how he and a team of other ET Arabs fearlessly rescued me from prison pit of despair over the loss of my housemate, their white robes flowing as red para sails burst forth to save me. And so I finally forgave Zylph, my father’s future higher self. In that blissful moment I went to peacefully to sleep. If sleep is what you can call what I do anymore.

Many more dreams of others people like me came in one of the most exhausting nights of my life. Dreams of many being saved from child abuse by the ETs of The League of Ghost Worlds and The Wisconsin Project came to me like old memories of childhood playgrounds on other planets. Comforted that I now have an ET father, looking out for me as penance for his sins in life in many forms, the most prominent being Zylph from Antares, I finally found dreamless rest nestled in the powerful red rocks of Sedona on this first early morning of the Golden Age.

PhiSciences Dr. Patrick Flanagan and his amazing wife Stephanie Sutton — PhiSciences.com’s Dr. Patrick Flanagan and his amazing wife Stephanie Sutton

Visit DreamShield.org to see my meditations in Antarctica and the work I am doing to record the amazing super scientist Patrick Flanagan, of PhiSciences.com who also speaks to Ohom and considers him a valuable spirit guide.

Last here is the link to an amazing new crowd funder in prelaunch where you can volunteer and be in the inner circle in bringing an amazing device called the Neurophone, proven in numerous university tests since 1957, to boost intelligence. I am a happy user of the device and it greatly has improved my meditation and writing!

THE WIZARD AND THE ICE FAIRY – Part One

On January 21, 2014August 10, 2016 By Ken SheetzIn DreamShield, Planetary Meditations, Uncategorized3 Comments

“The notion that science and spirituality are somehow mutually exclusive does a disservice to both.”– Carl Sagan

By Ken Sheetz

Once upon an alternate universe, a wizard named Zlyph did battle with an evil green dragon who had slain his king and queen while he was on a quest to a far away land.

The master-less wizard fought the green dragon with a magical ice sword to the highest minaret of the castle.

“Why do you persist, wizard? Your king and queen are ash. This castle is now my realm!” bellowed the dragon, blasting a gout of green flame.

“Guilt for being far away when you made your sneak attack compels me, foul one. Vengeance for King Ior and Queen Ilsa!” said the wizard Zylph. But he tripped over a fallen knight’s armor and was knocked out.

The green dragon cackled as he loomed over the unconscious wizard, “Too easy! Farewell, wizard.” The green dragon drew in a deep breath and prepared to incinerate Zylph.

But before the wicked dragon could strike a fairy queen made of ice leaped from the wizard’s sword.

“Dragon, you should be ashamed of yourself!” the ice fairy queen shouted.

The dragon reeled back a few paces and said, “Ashamed of what?”

“Ashamed of a rage and fury that has taken enough lives. Go now in peace and leave this wizard to mourn the loss of his tribe,” said the ice fairy queen.

“I, I’ve met none such as you in the worlds I travel. I sense no fear in you whatsoever. You have extinguished me rage, my flame… But I can still crush you in my jaws!” the green dragon snapped at the ice fairy queen but she simply turned to snow flakes that reformed a few feet away.

“Do not try my patience, dragon. You shall not have the wizard for he is a savior to my people. I guard him forever. Fly for your life now, or face my icy wrath!” said the ice fairy queen.

“I shall depart and leave this old fool to you. My work is done here. But before I take wing there is a price for my leave,” said the dragon.

“Ask and I will consider, dragon.”

“Your name, fairy. What is it so that I may curse your name in my exile from the castle I rightly won in combat?” said the green dragon.

“I am known as Antarcticania, queen of the Orions. But know this, dragon. Curse me and your belly will turn to ice and you will perish in an instant. Be gone. You waste my time. I must tend to the wizard Zylph, savior of my people. Fly!” said Antarcticania setting loose blizzard atop the castle.

The dragon leaped into the winter storm bellowing in rage, “You have not seen the last of me, witch!”

The wizard blinked his eyes as he awoke in the king’s bed. He rubbed the knot on the back of his head, remembering he had been knocked cold in his battle with dragon.

“How in King Ior’s name did I get in the king’s bed?” said the wizard, not expecting and answer and shocked when the ice fairy queen stepped through the door. But she wore an enchantment that made her look like a simple peasant woman, through which her inner fairy beauty shone through like the sun behind a heavy laden snow cloud.

“Please lay back on rest, brave wizard. You’ve had a nasty blow to the head and may be suffering forgetfulness of your amazing defeat of the green dragon,” said the ice fairy, taking no credit for saving the wizard.

“Last thing I remember was tripping over something and conking my thick skull,” said the wizard laying back down from dizziness.

“Perhaps, great one, you have cast a spell over yourself to cause you to battle when your wits are affected,” smiled the ice fairy.

“Where is my ice sword, fair one?” said the wizard.

“You impaled the dragon with the ice sword and he flew off in a rage of hellfire ice sword and all,” said the ice fairy, keeping the secret she and the ice sword were one from the dazed wizard.

“Hmm. I can be scrappy. I guess my instincts took over. But I would never drag myself to the royal chamber to slumber,” grumped the wizard.

“You passed out after defeating the dragon and I carried you here. I meant no disrespect to your king and queen, god rest their souls,” said the ice fairy.

“Who are you? And why are you here when all perished in the castle?” said the wizard, his suspicion growing by the second.

“I am Anna, a simple severing girl of Queen Ilsa’s. I hid deep in the castle’s secret chambers during the dragon attack, ” smiled the ice fairy queen, not revealing her royal standing.

As the ice fairy smiled, the walls of the castle melted before the shocked wizard’s eyes. The wizard transformed into a 20-year-old college student, Kyle Rodger, sitting before computer screen where the green dragon was battling the ice fairy.

“Thanks, Mr. Rodgers, that will be all for today. Don’t want to keep you from your classes,” said a lab tech as she removed electrodes from Kyle’s head.

End Part One

A Talk With 1991 Me

On January 5, 2014January 19, 2026 By Ken SheetzIn 2012, DreamShield, Oneness, Planetary Meditations, Uncategorized3 Comments

It’s 2014. I’m meditating in my new home in Sedona, trying to make contact with my 1991 self.

I see myself at age 39, working late in my offices at 303 West Madison in downtown Chicago, on the 19th floor. The staff has gone home. I’m still grinding—working harder and longer than everyone else, as usual.

It’s January 4, 1991. Snow drifts past the big dual-pane office windows.

On my desk is an invitation to a late New Year’s Eve office party a competitor is throwing in the East Loop. I’m debating whether to go. Parties weren’t my thing in 1991—and they aren’t now. My brain hurts at parties. I’m a one-on-one person.

Across the street looms the under-construction skyscraper I’m the managing partner of: One North Franklin. I’m tense as hell. The curtain wall—the skin of the building—is badly behind schedule. If the project is late, I stand to lose $8 million in guarantees.

So 1991 me paces the office like a caged animal.

Back in 2014, I’m thrilled to discover this time-machine compartment of my brain—one that’s always been there, waiting for me to open the hatch and fire it up. I can easily read my 1991 mind:

Dammit. Is the GC still working? Should I chew his ass out now for screwing up my building—or wait until Monday?

It’s worth noting: I’d been having conversations like this with myself long before my spiritual awakening in 2010—before Italy, before the ET-angel encounters, before the meditation work that eventually took me to Antarctica. (If you want the wider arc of that journey, it lives over on DreamShieldPlanetaryMeditations.com.)

So answering myself now feels oddly natural.

“It won’t matter,” I say to my 1991 self. “Nothing you do is going to save this project. Go home to your wife and kids.”

1991 Ken stops dead mid-pace.

“Where did that voice come from?”

He hurries to the door and peers into the empty hallway.

“I’m in your head,” I say.

“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”

“Your wife is right about the working too hard part,” I reply. “But you’re not going nuts.”

A phone call from a client snaps the connection. An hour later, I’m back—this time riding along in his emerald-green Jaguar as he drives home to Lake Forest.

“I’m back,” I say—nearly causing him to swerve off the Kennedy Expressway.

“Who are you—and how are you inside my head?”

“Who do I sound like?”

“Dad?” he asks, uneasy.

“Way off. I’m you—Ken Sheetz, 23 years in the future.”

He laughs nervously. “Time-traveling from the future? Prove it. Tell me something no one else could possibly know.”

I don’t hesitate.

“You and Gloria had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”

He goes quiet.

“Jesus. You are me. Or I’m losing my mind.”

“I can prove it another way. Tomorrow—January 5, 1991—the Redskins beat the Eagles 20–6. The final score comes from a third-quarter field goal. Randall Cunningham throws for exactly 205 yards.”

“What’s Google?” he asks.

“A company that will become the source of almost all human knowledge.”

He shakes his head. “If that game happens exactly like you say, I’ll believe you.”

“It’s as real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer.”

“What—am I going to crash tonight?”

“Worse. You’re heading for a complete financial meltdown. In a year, you’ll be returning that Jaguar on foot.”

The unraveling comes fast. Commercial loan failures. Banks seizing properties. By 1994, nearly every Loop building goes back to lenders. One North Franklin becomes the poster child. Barclays Bank loses $80 million—and makes an example of you.

“You’ll survive,” I tell him. “But not as the man you are now.”

By 1992, I’m broke. By 1995, I’m making films. By 2002, I’m in Hollywood. The money sucks—but I’m happier than I’ve ever been. (That pivot—and everything after it—connects to the broader body of work at OveractiveImaginationPictures.com.)

Gloria leaves when the money disappears. The divorce is brutal. The kids are hurt badly. One nearly doesn’t survive their teenage years.

“This isn’t a warning,” I finally tell him. “It’s a gift.”

I urge therapy. Anger work. Gentleness. Putting family first. Leaving the skyscraper deal early. Taking cash—any cash. Starting a small corporate film company. Naming it BuzzBroz.

I tell him the truth I never wanted to face:

The wealth was a trap.
The rage was inherited.
The collapse was the opening.

He tries to fight it. Of course he does. 1991 Ken is ruthless—Chicago real estate tough. A man built out of pressure, swagger, fear, and a need to prove something to a drill-sergeant father who never offered the kind of love you can actually stand on.

And then 1991 Ken—my 1991 Ken—does something surprising: he gets creative.

“What if I change the past,” he says, “and a new future splits off? No paradox. You’re just one version of my 2014 possible selves.”

“That’s actually quite possible,” I say. “A 21st-century theory called multiverses.”

As he pulls into the driveway of my Lake Forest mansion, I push one last time—faster, like the signal is fading.

“Be kinder to Gloria. Get out of the deal before spring. Take whatever you can get. Cash in the bank is king. Don’t wait for pride to do your accounting.”

“And therapy,” I add. “I mean real therapy. I didn’t do it until after the divorce, when I almost killed myself from suicidal depression.”

“Christ,” he says. “This gets grim.”

“Yes,” I say. “But you’re made of indestructible stuff. The question is whether your wife and kids have to pay the price for your anger.”

There are entire libraries on what trauma does to families—and how anger gets handed down like a cursed heirloom. If you want a grounded, mainstream overview of how therapy helps people rewire emotional patterns, the American Psychological Association’s psychotherapy resources are a solid place to start.

He threatens to bet big on the Redskins. He threatens to invent time travel and beat my ass. We laugh—tearfully—because even at my most intense, the heart was still there.

Then he opens the front door.

Gloria and our two kids—Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9—run to greet him with hugs and kisses.

And in that instant, both versions of me know:

It’s not too late.

I end the meditation in tears.

This really happened(s). This is not fiction.

I save(d) a family. My own.

And I still had time for my daily meditation hike in Sedona. If you’re into meditation as a practical tool—not as a personality—some of my calmer work lives at CoolestMeditationEver.com, and my civic sanity project lives at PoliticalCoolDown.com.

Peace.

THE RICH AS VICTIMS

On January 4, 2014January 4, 2014 By Ken SheetzIn Uncategorized1 Comment

“Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” – Mathew 19:24

By Ken Sheetz

The rich 1% are victims of the system like the rest of us. I know this from being a rich man in the 80s myself. At age 37 I was worth about $12 million back in 1989. Or about $30 million in 2012 dollars. So I was on that lower end scale of the 1%. A poor rich man.

The level of work and dedication needed to build and maintain wealth is staggering. It left me with no personal life, a neglected wife and two neglected kids. My clients like Oprah and my Chicago skyscraper I was building had far more of my love and attention. That’s where the money was. My family was far down my list.

What was driving me? Lack of self-worth. I felt the more money I made the more I could fill the void. A void created by our society. A shared lie.

Is there some cabal of evil people creating this shared lie? No. Just some overachievers trying to make their meaningless life of the pursuit of money have meaning, like I used to do.

I did not choose to leave Mt. Olympus to seek these answers. The worst commercial real estate crash in history gave me the boot from money paradise. I lost over $80 million for me and my investors. To protect the family assets from the bankers we, legally and totally above-board, put everything we could into my wife’s name. Then she divorced me and kept it all. I left the marriage with the clothes on my back and a paperweight globe of the world I took from the living room curio.

I went into a dark depression that carried me to the shores of Lake Michigan, contemplating suicide one winter night in ’92. Alone and only getting to see my estranged kids, 10 and 13, who remain estranged some 20 years later, just every other weekend. I felt no one would miss me if I stepped off the snowy rock into the icy lake. I braced myself for the jump to my death.

But something stopped me. A voice of reason within said, “Let your old life die here, Ken. Begin a new life.” And I turned from the icy shore, got in my car and began my life over.

I still had my rep as Chicago’s 1987 broker of the year and the builder of Harpo Studios. I still had my wealthy business friends who owned half of Chicago. I still had all my creative gifts of great taste and style from my education as an interior architect. I still had my 40-year-old body, though in bad shape from lack of exercise I could rebuild that body.

Unfortunately I still had a low self-esteem from abused childhood. It still haunts me and thwarts my efforts to have a mate. I lack an ability to trust and a overreact to simple give and take in relationship. Far less than I used to but I accept some part of me asked to be this way for my work. A

I pledge to make this an amazing year for fans of my work. I have found myself and love me for who I am. Took me to 61 to get here. I live my BFA now. I live as an artist of film and the web. It’s not been easy getting here. I have had a lot of help from family and friends who bankrolled my film career that began at 40 when I walked away from the easy money of real estate.

It’s all converging now in my new home in Sedona I am renting. I have an amazing housemate I adore but the feeling is not mutual. But we are using this non-romantic relationship to grow further. I am learning to be less controlling, less angry, less manipulative and she is learning from me wealth attraction and managed anger. We call this home nestled at the foot of Chimney Rock the Green Sanctuary. At least this is how I see things. My housemate likely sees things as totally different. Perhaps that I am something of a jerk.

Still of Me and Patrick Opening Portal — Me Right 2014 with Scientist Patrick Flanagan

Most important in Sedona, my silly personal life aside, there’s much work to be done in 2014 helping great men like G Patrick Flanagan get his inventions that have helped me reach this new level of awareness and health and reverse aging.

I’ve even begun thinking when I am 37 again, the age I love me most at, of marrying and having kids and doing it all right this time. Family first. I will not be a slave to the lies of meaningless wealth accumulation. Not to say I will not become more wealthy than ever. But I will keep only what I need and enjoy and give back to help balance and save this precious world. And if not in this life, I am ready for the next.

So forget the conspiracy theories about the nine families seeking to poison and wreck the same world they share with the rest of us. Greed is the enemy, not the rich being manipulated by it. We need to rise above it all. To seek together all of rich and poor alike a new paradigm based on love for each other. It’s really about taking action and not just thinking it will happen. It’s about thinking and doing.

And what I am doing for Dr. Flanagan right now is building a crowd funder to make this a smarter world with his amazing Neurophone. Click the link to join the pre-launch and learn how he is making the world a smarter place.