On just his second day in office, before our two person meditation team even left Washington DC, Trump signed an executive order resuming work on both the Keystone and Dakota Access oil pipelines. He did so without so much as a mention of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe at a North Dakota site whose lands and waters may become forever poisoned by this decision.
As backers of the water protectors, we at CoolestMeditationEver.com are outraged Trump began his presidency in such a disrespectful fashion. Despite all our good wishes for his becoming a successful president in attending his inauguration, our meditation team was thrown for a loop by his support of the oil industry over treaty law.
We sought cosmic guidance in many meditations upon our return to our base in Sedona Arizona. Still, our spirit guidance remained clear — transmute fear centering around Trump, a thin-skinned man with his finger on the nuclear trigger, to love. We were reminded daily by spirit, during Trump Twitter fits and his Muslim ban, that this transmutation is ALL we are to do through Trump’s first 100 days, daily, and then intermittently for his entire presidency.
No matter how distasteful and scary we sometimes find the meditation work to offset this man’s potent energy, even when he seems at times unhinged, we must and will carry on. Your support with both your donations and in spirit joining in the intention to shift fear to love is so appreciated and far more important than you can know.
It’s been explained to us by our spirit guides that the USA as the #1 consumer and polluting nation–an invisible empire fueled by corporate greed, lust for oil and war–must be shifted to the light if humanity is to survive.
We must surrender to the fact that, for however how long he lasts in office, the universe selected Donald J Trump to be exactly where he is currently — stirring the pot. Indeed, in the face of so many bizarre lies from the Trump administration, including a flat out effort to curtail if not eradicate the free press–a valuable freedom ever with all it’s faults–we are seeing a renaissance of protesting and activism. For in every action there is an equal an opposite reaction.
However unpleasant and painful Trump’s time in office is to we who love mother earth and all her creatures great and small on this precious blue world, we must hold the space that LOVE TRUMPS HATE.
Deep thanks to all who have been contributing to our Indiegogo that has paid for the trip to DC and our initial filming. Our next phase of the work is to interview conscious leaders about how to cope with the fear field Trump engenders and to meditate for solutions.
Please contribute yourself if you like what we are doing to bring hope to a hopeless seeming situation at LOVE TRUMPS HATE. 3 days left of the campaign as of this posting!
Busy dream space last night. One amazing dream after another. In one dream cycle, I saw a bowl valley in Antarctica avalanche until the snow formed a satellite dish of ice. Then, somehow I knew – don’t ask me how – to broadcast the earth energy into the auric field about the planet. This field has many names, including what I call the DreamShield. Lucid dreaming onward, I opened two other white portals of energy; one in the Himalayas of Tibet and the other deep within the Rockies of Alaska.
Exhausting as this dream work sounds, it energizes me. So much so it can be hard for me to fall back to sleep. After a trip to the toilet I found myself perched on my side of the bed drinking water in preparation for another round of dreams. Sedona Arizona is a desert oasis, but a desert nonetheless. As I drank the pure water that bubbles up into my sweet little rental house from the Oak Creek aquifer, I could feel every dehydrated cell of my body being refreshed.
Then it hit me. What if my legs decided to hog all the water I was drinking? No replenishment except to my greedy legs. Well, I’d die wouldn’t I? Sounds crazy doesn’t it? But everyday we, the human species, each a cell of a Oneness consciousness, are selfishly hoarding of water from the other cells of our spirit body as the people. This is the basis of poverty and war in a world that should be heaven but is hell. So the end to poverty and war is simply sharing. And having solved war and poverty, just kidding but I am on the right track, it was time to go back to sleep.
I am blessed to have a wonderful old/new love in my life. Her name is Elizabeth England and she never minds my night work as she is doing the same dream work. We talked briefly, then made love. I know it will always be this way between Elizabeth and me. We are giving freely of our waters of life to each other now that we have found each other again. What a lovely way to expand consciousness as we recall many past lives together, dreaming up answers.
Going to be interesting to see how well I do in my Pilates class today after back to back nights of lucid dream meditation for my birthday.
Read APOCALYPSE NOT – THIS TIME IT’S PERSONAL – PRT 1 for the background on my lucid dreaming super powered meditation technique I’ve honed over the past 5 years as a hobby to save the world from our own negative intentions, fed by a sick mass media that sucks on our fear like an electronic vampire.
And this time a prediction from a Doomsayers led by Rev. Efraid Rodriguez that up to a series of 28 asteroids will pulverize the earth, starting on my birthday and lasting a week, has my spirit dander up.
No the world will not end on my birthday. This time my planetary meditations are personal.
ASTEROIDS 22 -20 – 11 PM to 12 AM
It’s the evening of my birthday, 9/21/15. I spent the day in solitude, having called a friend too late to have dinner with me. I blogged 12 hours straight about my work to wipe out the Rodriguez asteroids before they could wipe us out.
Last night’s meditations took out 6 asteroids. Leaving 22 to go. I begin the meditation, connecting my chakaras to the stars and earth core energy and take on the powers of my childhood hero, Superman. I bound for the stars from my bedside, willing myself to reach the 22 asteroids, rocketing their way to earth.
Soon I am face to face with mammoth asteroid 22. I keep a respectful distance. These asteroids, which are astral plane manifestations of humanity’s own fear and negativity, are becoming more and more difficult as the negativity becomes more focused when the number of asteroids reduces.
I am stunned asteroid 22 looks so gray and perfectly smooth. Just as I notice the formation a large elliptical indentation on its face, a death ray lashes out at me. Without conscious thought, I raise a force field. The death ray deflects into space harmlessly in spectacular shower of sparks. I change my force field’s shape to a mirror image asteroid 22’s ellipse and hurtle the death ray back at the asteroid.
KABOOM! Asteroid 22 explodes into harmless rubble that will burn up safely in earth’s atmosphere. I check with my microscopic vision to make sure this was not a clever with to send a plague to earth on the dust. All clear.
As I turn to face asteroid 21, rock jaws swallow me whole. I am in the belly of the asteroid 21. Engulfed in negative energy. I begin to see images of my father beating me on my 13th birthday. I feel the pain in my chest of how my abusive dad used to lay on top on me as little kid; until I would nearly pass out my lungs were so crushed. I shake it off. I am an adult now. Dad’s been dead 4 years. His spirit and mine have come to peace. These are old negative memories this asteroid is using to imprison me until it can strike the earth. I shake it off, my rough past no longer exists.
Luckily, I remember, in this super state, I don’t need to breathe. I can hold my breath effortless for hours on what’s in my lungs. I calm and decide I have so much air to spare I will use it to destroy the asteroid from within. I exhale a mighty breath. Here, in the vacuum of space, Asteroid 21 trembles as it’s center fills with my expanding super air. Cracks emerge across asteroid 20’s ragged surface. BOOM! Asteroid 21 is dust. I scan the dust cloud for plague, taking no chances
I no sooner do I finish my scan of asteroid 21 than I am engulfed in asteroid 20. It’s made of sickly looking goo! I am lucky my force field acts automatically and forms into a tight protective sphere about me. I scan the goo with my microscopic vision and find all manner plague surrounds me. I realize my fear of the asteroids plague has manifested this monstrosity! If even one drop of this gooey asteroid reaches earth it’s all over.
My force field grows ever tighter about me, restricting my arms. I try to fly out of here but the gooey plague filled asteroid just moves with me. Then I have an idea. I am invulnerable to fire. If if keep flying I can pilot asteroid 20 into sun from within! The asteroid desperately crushes my force field tighter as I hurtle for the sun, asteroid 19 and all. The human part of my mind looks in fear as the sun, 109 times larger than earth, looms. Will super me be able to survive 10,000 degrees of the sun’s super heat? Is this like the Matrix I wonder, where if you die in lucid dream you die in real life? Will I die alone on my birthday in my bed back in Sedona of a stroke? Am I wearing clean underwear?
Then I catch myself. The plague the gooey germ soaked asteroid 20 also carries the germ of despair destroying our world. I increase my flight to 5 times the speed of light and dive into the center of sun. The sound of lethal plague burning up sends out shrieks that would put any horror film to shame. I cover my ears it’s so stressful to hear those banshee screams. But soon the plague filled asteroid 20 burns away and I hear the voice of Gaia,”Father sun loves you champion of earth. Rest awhile, Ken, bask and tan in Sol’s power. Recharge yourself, spirit warrior and carry the dream of solar-powered sustainable world back home to your people!”
Gaia’s beautiful voice and the glare of the inner sun fades. I am back in Sedona. Mortal again. I look at nightstand clock that reads 12 AM. Only an hour has passed. My birthday is over.
I set an intention before drifting off to normal sleep, if there ever has been such a thing for me. “Find me a way to defeat all 19 remaining asteroids all at one time before morning, please.”
It is 1960, Bay View Wisconsin. Our fuzzy miniature grey Poodle named Lacy, licks 8-year-old me, giving me love like a crazy. Lacy already has some tumors. She dies sadly, years later, taking on the cancer of our family. A poodle Jesus. But for now I am basking in her very lively lick kisses. I can’t contain my little boy giggles and shout, “Lacy loves me!”
A dear relative, who will remain anonymous, one that never likes seeing me happy, like happiness is something to fear, says clucking their tongue disapprovingly, “Ken, Ken, Ken. You think that dog licking is love?”
“Um, yeah,” I say already dreading the meanness that I know is coming.
My dear relative grins, like they are addressing the village idiot, and looms near my little face, their breath wreaking of cigarette smoke, and says dryly, “Wrong, Kenny boy. Dogs just lick people for the salt on their skin.”
“Feels like love to me!” I say, tears welling. Lacy feels the tension growing in me and tries to lick away my pain.
My dear relative smells my pain and laughs crazily as they deliver their words like a death blow, “Love? From a poodle? Ha! Animals don’t have souls, so they don’t love, except salt. Dogs love salt! Ha ha ha!”
Eight-year-old me has no words. The dear relative sickly relishes the shock on my little boy face. I begin to shake with sorrow and rage at what’s been stolen from me, the love of every animal on planet earth. A word knife is lodged deep in my heart. I shove Lacy off my lap and run bawling to my room to the taunting laughter of the dear relative.
Well, it’s 2014 now. I am a lot wiser. I call bullshit, dear relative. I feel sorry you could not feel love and found it needed to shut my heart like yours. For decades you succeeded. Today I am grown now, awakened and grown wise in the power of love.
So in today’s meditation I send you, dear relative, loving Lacy doggie licks. Lick, lick, lick. Back across time and space, straight to your frozen heart. I see the licking love of our tormented brave family dog Lacy upon your heart. She is a brave furry little hero who your inner guardians are helpless against as she scoots between their legs, effortlessly dodging swords.
You are stunned, dear relative. Penetrated to your frozen core as Lacy runs about your ice caked heart. The poodle darts so fast her grey fur ignites with the flame of love. Barking and licking, she flies so fast she is a streak of fiery love. Crack! The ice about your heart is helpless as the polar ice caps today’s neglect of humanity is wreaking our world. Your heart thaws rapidly. Spring dawns in your wintery soul.
Your hateful side is stranded on a iceberg in an azure ocean. You are a red polar bear trapped by Lacy’s love. The iceberg becomes too small and you fall, roaring the last of your hatred as a new inner ocean of Lacy’s bliss and love drowns the last of your bitterness.
Tugged to safely to shore by the impossibly strong tiny soggy poodle, dear relative, you stagger to your feet on the beach of love, new color in your face. Lacy, job happily done, barks good-bye and zooms back into to her tortured 1960 body and returns to licking the eight-year-old me and you say in wonder…
“I am so sorry, Kenneth. Forgive me. Yes, doggies love salt on our skin, but I see now – oh how I see – that’s their reward for giving love so freely and selflessly!”
You run to join us on the couch, kissing me with love as Lacy licks us both.
Aw. Before we speak of Robin and an amazing techno-meditation device I’ve been blessed to discover that may have saved his life as it’s saved mine, meet the future. My puppy Sophia, now 7 years-old, just turning 50 in human years, is living with an adorable LA family I found to adopt her. She was hard to give up. Don’t get me started on Obama’s failed jobless recovery. But it did get me traveling.
Still, much as I love the traveling life. I miss Sophia. It makes me sad to think, Sophia who ages seven times the rate of a human, will one day soon catch up to me in years, pass me by and pass on. I plan to visit her again soon, before she’s too old to cuddle with me.
Sophia and I bonded instantly. Love at first sight at a pet store in LA where I was filming a commercial in 2007. Sophia became the star of my most popular short film starring Ed Asner, ZACK’S MACHINE.
WISDOM FROM “BACK FROM THE DEAD DANNION”
In my 2012 interview of him, best seller author and consultant to film and TV, Dannion Brinkley asked me the question I ask you now:
What’s the one medical condition that leads to more deaths on this world than any other condition? I guessed heart attacks when Dannion, who has been struck by lightning twice and been dead three times, asked me.
Post your guess below. I will give prize of one free bottle of Dr. Flanagan’s famed Megahydrate, that hydrates you from the inside out. Which one of you wins? Simple, the one I like best. Post your answer now before continuing to read.
Back? Ok. The correct answer according to Dannion is birth. Yes, birth, the hillbilly swami, says is the leading cause of death. Take a look in your mind’s eye: Everyone and everything on this world, this world itself in fact, is born to die.
Age. That’s my morning meditation today. Or more specifically time. Why do we choose atomic decay, or aging, as the universal constraint of our reality?
Why do we agree to live such short lives, less than the blink of an eye to the cosmos? And why in so many different bodies and life forms? Indeed, some forms of insect live an entire life in matter of hours.
Tell you a secret I only learned yesterday in my amazing meditation at the Stupa in Sedona, that I filmed for DreamShield, not all sentient life in the universe lives in linear time like we all do on earth. Some worlds, like the moon of Nektar I can reach in meditation, live outside time and space.
Why do we earthlings, from puppies to princes, choose to in live linear time, to be young, to breed, to raise our young and then to die? Pretty profound blog for something that started from a puppy picture, yes?
OK, Take four deep breaths and strap on your Neurophone with me as you read this post. Let’s ponder the big question of aging, incarnation and time. Wait! Don’t have a Neurophone? Don’t even know what the heck a Neurophone is?
THE NEUROPHONE. WHY I LOVE IT AND ITS INVENTOR
First invented in 1958 by Patrick Flanagan, when he was only 13-years-old, the Neurophone, explained in detail at NewNeurophone.com where a historic crowd funder launches on September 3, 2014, is a profound techno-meditation device. It works by sending gentle ultrasonic waves through your brain through sci fi looking transducers you wear on your forehead. This subtle ultrasonic effect increases blood flow by a whopping 300%, balances left and right brain functions while it activates your ancient ears.
But wait! Long as I am sounding like an infomercial. Wearing a Neurophone for just a few months for an hour a day might increase your meditation power to the level of a yogi in a cave, according to the inventor. And, most amazingly, in most cases, says Dr. Flanagan, it will boost your boost IQ. I confirm that. I am smarter for using it for over a year now myself. Typos still being my weak point that take me forever to weed out. But the content is way, way up in depth of thought. Someday the software will be there to correct my typing flaws.
Any who, before we go further, Patrick Flanagan, the brilliant inventor of the Neurophone, who Deepak Chopra calls a gift to humanity, is a client. The most amazing client I’ve ever had. And considering Oprah is a client for whom I built Harpo Studios for, that’s no small statement on my part. So keep in mind I am somewhat biased about the Neurophone. A paycheck has a way of doing that.
But I have confession. Something I’ve not yet told Patrick. Here is it. Without this amazing client in my life, without needing to try the Neurophone to promote it, I would never have tried techno-meditation. You see, I felt, I should be enough. I meditate on my own power! In other words, ego held me back.
The doctor gifted me with an NF3 Neurophone on in March of 2013. Confession details: I did not start wearing for half a year. It would take a failed love affair with a selfish beauty that was depressing me to finally get me to use it in earnest almost a full year later. Yeah, it was the blues that brought me to being a Neurophone fan. You see, I’d heard it can help people who suffer from depression.
Depression kills. It recently killed Robin Williams. Many in my family have died of depression through self-medication, namely drinking and drugging.
The Neurophone has worked very well for my battle with depression I have fought all my life without drugs, mainly choosing work as my natural high that keeps me going. In fact I am sad right now over a losing housemate here in Sedona. Living all alone here in a small town where the people all seem either ancient or too young and I work from home is tough. Normally, after such as loss of an amazing housemate I’d be in bed, not able to face the day, but here I am, happy to be normal sad, not suicidal sad, at my computer, sharing my first techno-meditation with you, a term I dreamed up for describing Dr. Flanagan’s Neurophone.
Don’t have a Neurophone yet? Has the $800 price tag scared you away from investing in the marvelous modern marvel that got Dr. Falangan featured in LIFE magazine, this profound tool for improving your brain?
Good news! Through a lot of determinate and hard work, as he wants more of the world to have one, all you need to do is until 9.3.14 and you can pre-order a 2015 Neurophone for only $399. That’s fabulous 50% price and upgrades like a new rechargeable lithium battery and healing sound frequencies to boot.
Don’t be chicken like me and wait until the grim reaper of suicide is at your door. I truly believe the Neurophone might saved Robin Williams, based on my success using one, and might be able be able to save you .
Everything Dr. Flanagan invents is gentle and good and meant to accelerate the gifts you already have and will soon only cost $399, less than a smart phone which makes you dumber. Will the Neurophone’s gentle ultrasonic waves work for you like it’s worked for lifting my depression? I hope so. No guarantees. Let me know if it did!
Back to our meditation. Keep breathing, oxygenate your brain, Neuophone or not.
Ah, yes, age. Why do we do we choose to age unlike other worlds that choose immortality? The answer: Boredom. To certain spirits, the ones who like to incarnate here, the world where we live one life, holding to one form of life is boring. Look at our entrainment, getting shorter all the time. One minute movies are the norm on the we now. BTW, the Neurophone, the inventor tells me, stimulates the brain, thus reducing boredom.
In any case, I am no scientist and the inventor of the Neurophone, the amazing Patrick Flanagan, makes it clear the Neurophone is not a medical device. I only know on a very painful and personal level it helps beat the blues.
Are spirits who love to be born, to reboot to live life over and over again, to die, study what we learned in the spirit realm before reincarnating as what and who we chose, be it puppy or prince? I’d like to think so, but fact is no on really knows. Love the mystery! Here’s how the Neurophone makes me feel as I express in this video. About as far from depression as it gets!
Oh, Mercury retrograde. You are here, AGAIN. You have arrived on our collective doorsteps in all your messy glory. – Gala Darling
Communicating during Mercury retrograde is never a thing of beauty. But this Merc turned ugly on June 5th, a day early of the calendar dates of some astrologers. And it took a long road to get to this almost deadly June retrograde that’s turned out to be life threatening. Yes, bad communications can be lethal. We see in this sad fact in the news every day. But this one hit home for me. Literally home.
HOME SICK HOME
Back in October 2013 I rented a sweet little green concrete block house that had been built-in the 1950s to continue on extended assignment filming famed scientist Patrick Flanagan. The house was built the same era I was born in and was totally renovated in 2012. Same year I went to Antarctica to meditate on shifting the negativity of the Mayan calendar fears to making a change to human consciousness.
Indeed, it all seemed so perfect. It was the first house in my rental hunt that I toured and I told the leasing agent I’d take it right on the spot. Love at first sight for this sweet little place on a big 2 acres of land. Looking for some company, having been used to sharing homes with roomies since 2009 when I was evicted in the depths of the Great Recession, I moved in with a beautiful Sedona psychic I’d met back in 2010 as my housemate. She had a cute little dog. I was in totally in love with the psychic, but she was clear had no such feelings for me. Still I enjoyed her company, and the dog adored me like it was my own and so I was looking forward to a fun time-sharing a house with the beauty and pooch.
Ah, but it just did not work out. For some reason the exquisitely sensitive soul, an extrovert to my introverted nature became very agitated hanging with me. I learned an introverted type like me likes to socialize at home whereas an extrovert socialize in public and wants isolation at home. So the psychic isolated herself in her part of the house, a later addition with its own HVAC and bath. Lots of upsets, that seem like something out of rom-com in retrospect. led to us mutually parting ways after her sharing my Sedona paradise for only 10 weeks. One day I came home from a long trip to help my brother find his new place in Florida and found I had the house to myself.
FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE
I decided to make it a meditation on living in such a secluded area of Sedona, the smallest city I’ve ever lived in since I was a kid. My rental house has no visible neighbors and sits near the base of Sedona’s famed Chimney Rock and Thunder Mountain. The ET energy here is epic and the alone time is important my guides say. So I accepted my fate loneliness.
Strangely, even when I asked friends over things would fall through and my isolation went on and on. For months on end I went on not even seeing a soul for weeks and months on end. No matter how hard I tried to break it this was an alone time.
Brokenhearted about losing my housemate that I had a hopeless one-way crush on, I was loving my fortress of solitude in the chill of winter, and somehow doing the best behind the scenes social media of my life for famed inventor Dr. Flanagan. Who became not only my greatest clients ever, surpassing even the amazing Oprah, but a dear pal, when suddenly I became deathly ill with walking pneumonia.
A lot of people in Sedona were getting sick with their immune systems compromised by Juniper tree allergies. So that’s what I figured was happening to me. Though sick as a dog, I was somehow managing to do my work for the NewNeurophone project and making awesome videos of its inventor Patrick Flanagan, but this lung sickness would just not let go. Breathing became a nightmare. My eyes were blood-red and looked like two blue marbles floating in a sea of tomato juice. Sickness is so unlike me. At 61 I’ve only been in hospital once in my life. Nothing’s ever made me sick long. I’ve not even had cold since 2008.
But the skies here in AZ are filled with more chemtrails from jets than I’ve experienced anywhere in the world. I had many chemtrail flu symptoms. I was taking lots of Patrick Flanagan’s Megahydrate which profoundly battles chemtrail flu and radiation poisoning as THE product for our times. Despite that, and downing lots of antibiotics and cough medicine, still I was near death many times with epic coughing fits. No matter how much gunk I coughed up, I was not getting well.
BREATH OF FRESH AIR
It was looking like I’d have to take a break from the Flanagan account to co when I was blessed to have a new person come into my life as an assistant, Genevieve Munoz, a 27-year Cal Poly marketing grad. Genevieve was able to pick up a significant part of my workload on the Neurophone project. And so I was able to go on despite my sickness to giving Patrick the fine service he deserved.
As the weather warmed in March and the Juniper allergy season ended I started to get much better. Still a lot of gunk remained in my lungs, breathing was still ragged. I visited four different healers here in Sedona to knock this thing out to no avail. I was stuck in sick land.
The weather warmed slowly. It was a late spring for Sedona. Finally as temps climbed into the 80s, I asked the landlord agent, who we’ll call Jerry, a sweet man in 70s with 40 years of managing rental homes for Sedona’s wealthy snow birds, how to turn on the rooftop based swamp cooler for the first time in my tenancy. Swamp coolers Jerry would explain, work on evaporative cooling in the dry AZ climate and use a powerful fan to suck air through a wet filter.
After Jerry left, I followed his directions I sat down in my office to work. No sooner did my butt hit the seat and I was attacked, no better word for it, by filth spewing from the powerful swamp cooler fan driven air vents. My eyes, ears, throat and lungs all burned instantly. I knew I was in for a total relapse into pneumonia if I did not get some antibiotics in me.
The Flanagan’s suggested a new doctor for me, a Dr. Haggard. She’s the doctor of my dreams as she avoid pharmaceuticals when she can. She gave me vitamins and the drugs I needed to heal faster, along with placing me on her nebulizer to open my air passages since I was wheezing like a 90 year-old emphysema victim.
I called Jerry the agent for the family trust and told him the filters on the HVAC obviously needed cleaning ASAP. Jerry hesitated on the line and said timidly, “Well, I am going to have to get Bob from the family trust’s OK for that.”
DEADLY ANGER MEDITATION
Some background on the stubborn and cantankerous Bob, the landlord family trust member point person, and why Jerry was afraid to call him. Bob’s a talented metal sculpture artist who is at war with his lawyer side. Bob bullied Jerry for each and every repair that’s ever been done here, as the watchdog for the family trust owners. I was Jerry’s first tenant he brought in for Bob. And Jerry was losing spirit about the account with each harsh encounter with Bob. Bob seemed a sweet man but there were buttons fixing the property that got pushed
“Sorry, Jerry, there’s no option here but for you to go to Bob for the OK. My guess is this filter issue has been what’s been making me sick since I first started using the HVAC here in winter.” I was greeted by Jerry’s silence and so I went on, ” I don’t get sick. Please fix this, Jerry. I think we’ve uncovered a serious health hazard. Tell Bob the last thing he wants and I want is a lawsuit for negligence over my damaged health.”
A terse “OK” was Jerry response and he hung up.
As a few days passed, I could tune in on the grief Jerry was having heaped on him. So I called him, “How’s it going, Jerry? Talked to Bob?”
“Yeah, and got an earful. He’s taking the matter to the trust,” said Jerry.
“Why must the trust vote on basic repairs?” I said, tension creeping into my voice.
“I agree it’s a pain in the ass. But I’ll get ‘er done,” said Jerry trying to sound chipper.
After another round brow beating by Bob, the trust finally allowed Jerry to replace all the filters with two contractors. One for the swamp cooler fixing and one for the AC fixing. Swamp coolers, as it turns out, do not work in the humid weather. So AZ homes use the two different systems for cooling. Cool thing is swamp coolers gives you humidity. A huge plus in the 0% humidity dryness of AZ.
New filters in place I again I happily turned on the swamp cooler and settled down to work at my desk. Victory! Wrong. Again I was bombarded my filthy stuff spewing from the HVAC vents. When I complained to the filter cleaning company worker as he packed up his stuff he said, “Filters are all clean. Might just be calcium from the cooler forming and flying at you from the swamp cooler.”
“Nonsense. This stuff is black and brown flying out the ducts, not white like calcium,” I said. A few minutes later I watched in disappointment as the contractor drove off down the rocky primitive road to the house with that sad look men have on their face when they fail at fixing something important.
STEPHANIE SUTTON’S RADAR ALARM
The Flanagans were coming over for a filming session soon and the weather had cooled again so I put off dealing with the bad HVAC and bad service arrangement here that took a vote of the family trust and overcoming the family watchdog Bob to get done. It was early May now, and an unusually cool spring was working to my favor in punting on this HVAC thing.
After filming, Stephanie Sutton-Flanagan noticed the kitchen duct was very dirty as she got a glass of water and said, “Ken, you’ve been sick for so long. I bet this filthy HVAC is what’s been hurting you. Get your landlord to come in a clean the duct system before this kills you.”
“I’ve been trying, Steph, believe me. For weeks. The landlord here has an anger fit for any repairs he has to make,” I complained to Stephanie, happy to have fresh sympathetic ear. “I once heard Bob screaming at Jerry over a measly $70 electrical outlet that needed repairing.”
Stephanie, as amazing as her husband Patrick Flanagan, scolded me in friendly fashion, “Then pay for the duct cleaning and get it fixed yourself. This is your lungs. You only get one pair!”
INTO THE BREACH
So I dove into solving the HVAC mystery again. I called Jerry soon as Stephanie and the film crew left with her hubby Dr. Flanagan. “Jerry, sorry the HVAC here is still infecting me. I respectfully request further repairs.”
Jerry groaned at the thought of another battle with Bob. Who now in my mind’s eye wore a western black cowboy hat, and had a silver six-shooter he toyed with as Jerry trembled before him explaining why he failed his mission, fearing death any second.
To beat the growing heat as I waited for Jerry’s answer, I ran the swamp cooler wearing a breath mask. I’d turn it on and then I sat on the patio outside working on Patrick’s media on my Ipad as the house cooled. Then I’d put on my breath mask back on, go inside and turn off the HVAC. My eyes still stung from whatever crap was coming out of the duct at high-speed. Seems crazy in retrospect, but Bob was so insistent it was clean up in HVAC system I thought maybe I was having some sort of allergy reaction to chemtrails or pollen getting sucked into the house. Such was my faith in Bob, who though a cranky cuss seemed an honorable man who had even built me a beautiful mailbox when I came here.
Then one May day I found a huge piece of brown filth laying on my kitchen floor and more big hunks of filth in my kitchen fruit bowl! I ran out to the patio and shouted,”BOB! YOU SUCK AS LANDLORD!” As my words echoed into the red rocks of Sedona, I was amazed how little of the old rage that used to burn in my veins I felt despite this travesty. Yes, I was happy to be properly angry. Justified. We need some anger to take care of ourselves. It’s out-of-place old super anger of repressed childhood wrongs that vents out at stressed times that makes fools of us. I thanked Bob for showing me this and went back inside to call Jerry. No answer.
Busied by a crushing work schedule and severe family troubles from my brother who ended up in a Florida jail and who still sits in a cell there as I write, I let Jerry slide for two weeks in getting Bob’s ok to clean the ducts. I finally called one hot day to see why these repairs were not happening. Jerry said nervously, ” Bob stands by his opinion the ducts are clean.”
“Clean?! With all the filthy flying?! Opinion?! There’s no opinion here, Jerry, except mine that you guys are not giving me a livable house. One cannot live in AZ without AC. Fix it,” I said calmly as I could about this self-serving “opinion” of Bob’s.
“I hear you, Ken. I’ve never had as tough a client Bob. But my hands are tied,” said Jerry sadly.
“Bob lives right next door, Jerry. Why doesn’t he just walk over and see this hazardous HVAC for himself?” I groused, blood rushing to my face at this harmful denial of reality. “Does he think I am imagining these chunks of brown filth?”
“Uh, um. Sorry, Ken, you know how Bob is. Ha. Lawyers,” Jerry lamely offered.
“Heck with this BS. What were the estimates to clean the ducts you got for Bob to OK, Jerry?”
“Anywhere from $300 to $350, ” said Jerry.
“$350 max. That’s all and Bob and his trust freaking refuses?” I asked, amazed at Bob’s stupidity given the legal exposure to my health he was racking up, giving me an open and shut case for litigation.
“Yep, ” said Jerry.
To back up, I admit I lost my temper a little with Jerry early in the lease. I blew my top over a fire hazard that was not getting fixed in timely fashion. I realized had sunk to Bob’s level of bullying the gentle Jerry to get things done. A way I’d made millions doing in the 80s and 90s.
But I didn’t go there again today with Jerry, despite weeks of complaining and the family trust run around. Though I am sure the deep indignation I was feeling about Bob’s total lack of disregard for my safety and health was apparent in my calm voice. That’s how I write good screen dialogue. A character seldom directly expresses his thoughts. Here I was a character in my own real-life horror story. Instead of yelling at Jerry as Bob was doing I gently said, “Give me the OK, Jerry, and I’ll call the contractor and have the work done on my nickel. But let Bob know if the contractor finds something up there that’s been making me sick I want an offset on my rent.”
Jerry happily agreed that was a fair thing, I assume given I was suffering so many health issues and this was a way out.
VISIT FROM A BROTHER SON
On Memorial Day weekend Bob’s son came by the house unexpectedly to fix the landscaping. Heavy Sedona winds had almost toppled two large cypress trees. I’d propped these beauties up with a pick axe and shovel. Items I’d bought recently to help my lost mystic housemate bury her little Yorky that had died suddenly of a heart attack in her arms. As we reconnected over the loss of her dog, I brought my former housemate up to date. Something I was required to do as Bob had refused to let her off the lease. This was after the fact overruling Jerry who said it was OK. Yeah, this Bob guy was biting at my peace of mind constantly, like a snake in paradise.
I told my former housemate how lucky she was to have been intuitive enough to lock herself off from the part of the house with a defective HVAC system and leave. We wondered over lunch recently if her delicate Yorky was killed by some sort of black mold that might be up there. A scary sad thought indeed as the pooch was only seven and so precious.
Bob’s son, I sensed, was afraid of talking to me for fear of backlash from his dad. But I liked the young man. He reminded me of my own son about his age: a big young man with a soft heart that’s estranged from me as I used to be temperamental like Bob. Hey, I did only have a father who was a drill sergeant dad for fathering lessons.
Though I was never psychically abusive to my boy like my alcoholic father who was the bane of my childhood, almost killing me several times with severe beatings, I was far too tough on my boy and his little sis verbally. Indeed, I had no idea words can hurt as much as the belt I was beat with as a kid of the 50s and 60s all too often. I saw this fear of a verbally stern father like I had been in my 20s and 30s, so long ago, reflected anew in Bob’s son’s worried eyes. I am pleased I treated Bob’s grown kid with extra kindness that I hope ripples back to my son in Chicago through earth’s energy field.
After Bob’s son finished with the landscape repair I offered him a bottle of some of Patrick Flanagan’s Megahydrate for he and his cute female companion. She had been coughing in the truck as she waited for Bob’s son to finish. The Sedona Slide Fire had been raging and 20,000 acres were aflame only 4 miles away. My lungs were really having a hard time with the smoke inhalation and chemtrails on top of the HVAC issues. Seeing I was not irate, despite the neglect I was suffering with at his family trust’s house, Bob’s kid accepted when I asked him to take personal look at the HVAC problem and the hunks of filth the swamp cooler was dislodging.
Bob’s son took one shocked look at the filthy duct that his father had been denying was dirty and offered to come back in few weeks to clean out the dirty duct himself. I appreciated young man’s offer but I could not wait that long. I explained it was simply getting too hot for my patio/breath mask routine to work and live in the house without a quick fix. Summer was making an end to my flexibility.
Deeply moved, almost to tears by Bob’s sons offer to clean out the duct, I waved bye from the drive as the big pickup truck left down the rocky road, feeling like this was my own son driving off with his wife and the twins born a few months ago I’ve not been invited to see. Not even on a Father’s day trip I made without any promises of seeing my two kids who became estranged over the tipping point when I began connecting to ET from other galaxies and dimensions in meditation.
HVAC MYSTERY DEEPENS AFTER THE JUMP
Seeking to purify myself to heal my sick body and atone for a brother who had been arrested on charges of animal cruelty for beating up his new Florida puppy, I gave up eating meat at this time. A powerful message from the ET Ohom had come through directing me to do my best to become an enlightened eater and shun the meat of the cruel corporate farms. A sad reality I’d learned about at the Illuminfate Film festival in a film called “Specism” showed me the deep suffering of our fellow creatures of this world.
4 years ago when first meeting Ohom, a 7 foot tall being, who looks like a blue angel might if evolved from an insect race, I would have poo pooed Ohom as a figment of my imagination. But even though I hold the paradox belief that this all still might be part of my amazing imagination, I can’t deny the wisdom it contains. And here I was suffering, like Gaia, at the hands of a landlord operating out of integrity. It all fits.
A few days later, June 4, the HVAC contractor Jerry has okay-ed, one with the funny name of Gesundheit Duct Cleaning Services, that I had to hire myself to do the landlord’s job, arrived and went to work. No sooner did the three duct cleaning workers get started, however, when the foreman came to me in my office, his tan face drooped in worry, and told me, “Sorry we have to quit.”
“Huh?” was all I could think to say.
He showed me why and my blood went cold as he said,” The photo is of the filth our duct cleaning machine pulled out in mere seconds. Man. when we starting pulling out all this dark junk, could even have some black mold, we had to stop. Sorry, Mr. Sheetz. But I’m knocking $70 off the price for needing to halt the job before it’s clean up there.”
A $70 discount for a health hazard still left behind hardly seemed fair, but I was in shock and wrote a check for $230. Grateful at last this mystery was finally solved of what had been slowly killing me.
The contractor, who I could tell was a total pro, as I’ve built over a million of square feet of construction before becoming a filmmaker, then invited me to take a photo of the inside of the duct work.
“Yikes!” I shouted. “Looks like something out of freaking Freddy Kruger movie up there!” Outraged about Bob telling me the ducts were clean and for my buying it.
To show Bob how wrong he was, I took this other photo with my Iphone as the foreman explained. “The duct runs on the roof outside of the house. So the sun has burnt up the insulation. It’s flaking and rotting to pieces and that’s what’s be flying around your home whenever you turn on the HVAC. It just took the velocity of the swamp cooler to make it freaking obvious. Good thing you kept bitching. Landlord needs to fix this by AZ law or you can vamoose.”
“But I don’t want to vamoose,” I said sadly knowing I might be forced to as I put the foreman on the phone with Jerry. The pro carefully explained to Jerry, as my heart sank, that the entire duct to the kitchen was contaminated.
I excused myself from the Gesundheit foreman to talk to Jerry. “Jesus, this keep getting worse, Ken! Bob assured me those ducts were cleaned just before you moved in. This is all wrong.”
I could hear the fear and panic in Jerry’s voice and tried to calm him, “Jerry, you need to call Bob, stand up to his denial of reality and get him in touch personally with the contractor. This is irrefutable evidence of why I’ve been getting sick. I don’t want a lawsuit. I want this fixed and hopefully I get well. And tell Bob he will need to fix this for the next tenant if not for me.”
MERCURY RETROGRADE MADNESS
The next day, eve of the June Mercury Retrograde, Jerry dropped by and asked to see contaminated duct firsthand. Jerry was determined to to the bottom of this mess. I was excited. My HVAC nightmare was perhaps at an end!! Jerry carefully examined my filthy samples tucked in little clear sandwich bags from the duct, looked at the photos and went up on the roof, When he was satisfied I had a legitimate gripe about this HVAC debacle, Jerry regretfully said, “Bob is still saying there’s no problem with the HVAC in your house rental.”
“What?” I said in a whisper of shock.
Jerry patted me on the shoulder, the way a friend would and said, “I’m sorry. I’m resigning effectively today, Ken. My reputation as a manager of 40 years is at stake.”
I wanted to say, “Hang in there and let’s get this fixed, Jerry.” But I had heard Bob screaming at Jerry over the phone. The amazing artist that Bob is lost out to the lawyer Bob is. He was stonewalling me. Forcing me to leave. He was angry at my justified complaint and being vindictive. Nothing else fit and so I said to Jerry, “I understand. I have the health laws on my side he has to fix this.
Jerry last words as he gave me Bob’s email address was, “I wouldn’t be so sure, Ken.” And then Jerry rode off up the rocky road that led to my rocky life in Sedona and I’ve not heard from him since.
SOS TO BOB
I sent Sam a stern but professional and amicable email. Then I waited to see if Jerry’s resignation over the bad decision to ignore this issue had convinced Bob he was wrong. A few hot days passed. No word at all. The contractors had taped shut the duct to the kitchen. I tried running the house swamp cooler, but it I could tell from how I was sneezing and getting itchy eyes that the air from the contaminated duct was mixing in the ducts, backing up and coming out the cleaner ducts.
My hands were tied. I could not undertake such a major HVAC repair myself, even with the AZ laws allowing me to. It was simply too major a thing since it impacted the roof, which has had leaks. A year after departing I saw the difficult Bob might hold responsible for roof leaks and health issues of the next tenant if the job was not done right to fix the toxic HVAC system. I pondered the mess and thought to myself. This communication is a nightmare. Are we in Mercury Retrograde? Sure enough, I checked and yes we were. Even communicating with the Flanagans was proving a challenge. Nothing like Bob but not the smooth and easy relationship that the norm with Pat and Steph.
I meditated for hours on end about my fate coming to such a lovely city and renting my first house since 1991. How had it all turned to filthy air? What were the lessons my spirit guides were trying to teach me in this Mercury Retrograde that was literally killing me?
THE ANTIDOTE TO NEGELCT
Ohom, the Orion ET who is my closest “imaginary friend” said to me one day as I was atop the summit, one which I have a clear view of from my house, as I panted for five minutes trying to catch my breath from the climb, “Ken, three of the meditations we gave you to do in Antarctica on 12.12.12 were about neglect. Neglect is what’s killing your world. The opposite of neglect is care. Find a way to care for yourself and all this trouble will end happily.”
As I climbed back down the summit I could not find an answer to caring for myself without giving up this house and land I had come to love here in gorgeous Sedona. The Hopi once used the lands of Sedona as a ceremonial sacred place. Their wisdom mixes here with the profound Tibetan energy through the earth. Need proof? Many of their words for the sames things are identical even though the two races only met less than a hundred years ago .
I knew this home was only mine by rental. But I’d done over a billion dollars in rentals for big corporations. And done properly, with a good property manager in place, leases are estates in time. One does not have equity of ownership but one has all the other benefits of ownership and none of the liabilities. It’s why corporations prefer renting. Therefore, what Bob was doing in seeming to force me to make my owner level repairs to the house was against the ethical code of renting I’d made millions back in the 80s and 90s. It went totally against my grain despite Ohom’s advice.
Now that it was June it was getting to be very hot. AZ temps from June through September can easily reach 100 plus daily. Seeing no solution and hearing no answers from Bob , head of the family trust, a great vehicle BTW for Bob to hide behind for litigation, I felt helpless. I could only send Bob a 5 day notice to repair and vacate. I sent Bob a feeble email that I would soon be forced to send this notice and be forced to leave and pleaded for his intervention. Icy silence from Bob filled my email box.
YOU’RE NOT HELPING MOM
Seemed like one more hot day and it was all over for staying in my home. One day, talking about this to my mom, said bitterly, “Funny thing. Your brother’s almsost lost his home after going to jail after fleeing the police and now here you are losing you home too.”
“Yeah, mom. Funny. Very funny. I’m being driven out of my house by a landlord that’s being a dick and Fred lost his house for being a dick,” I said sarcastically.
Mom giggled in the maddening mean-spirited way she can at times when she hurts me. All the pains of her turning her back when my father beat me as kid flared briefly to life. All the times she left home herself, leaving us with an enraged father looking for a scapegoat to her leaving him. Mom was bitter, I said to myself, that I have stepped away from helping my brother Fred in jail and it’s all fallen on her as she stupidly consigned on his mortgage.
“Mom’s anger is seeping its way out in her enabling of Fred,” I coached myself and I instantly healed and kept calm right in the middle of mom’s taunting on the phone. What a meditation on overcoming parental neglect! Still, it was an amazing parallels my psychic Mom so nastily pointed out. So I added more spirit disengaging from Fred and his addiction issues and anti-social behavior to my meditations on neglect.
I began thinking of where I would move next? I worried my large security deposit would be lost. Then one day in the middle of a Pilates class the idea came to me: Install portable air conditioning and ride out my lease and burn off the security deposit!
So I went to the hardware store in Sedona and lo and behold a portable floor rolling swamp cooler was on sale for $500, strong enough to cool the whole house. I bought it, loaded it in my jeep and went to work installing it. Swamp coolers run on cold water from a hose and using my architect and carpentry experience, I set up the water to run through my guest room without making it look like a joke.
I’d learned about portable swamp coolers from filming in a hot warehouse at Patrick Flanagan’s Phi Sciences set and how we used one to cool the set to film Patrick for my hit 50 videos web series. All the pieces were coming together in the middle of the haze of Mercury Retrograde when thinking is hard.
Ah! How sweet the clean fresh cool air felt of my new FU portable swamp cooler. I’d turned neglect into self-care as Ohom had guided me and was ready to stand my ground against Bob’s landlord’s negligence.
Still no word back, I emailed Bob the news I was coping. It was not pretty. The portable unit is big for the little house and noisy. But I was functioning. In the email to Bob I expressed my continued willingness to work this out but that rent would be withheld. I also put all my cards on the table and said if my health damage was permanent I would be forced to seek damages. Making clear my health was separate issue and water under the bridge at this late stage.
PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT BOB BEHIND THE FAMILY CURTAIN
Two weeks passed. Then one day I finally got an email from Bob explaining he’d not seen my emails all through June. The email amounted to little more than ass covering on his part and still incredibly seeking to paint me as imagining this HVAC thing was such a big dea despite Jerry’s resignation, photos and contractors saying it was mandatory landlord fix the HVAC. Funniest and saddest of all, Bob now claimed he never had anything to do with any decisions concerning the property and that he was only relaying votes of the family trust as to maintenance. He closed this bizarre email by directing me to contact the PO Box of a woman 2 hours away in Phoenix who was handling matters and to where I should send July rent.
Rent when I am running my life on temp HVAC? Fat chance. It took me days to research my rights without dragging lawyers into this epic Mercury Retrograde. But finally I had my amazing assistant Genevieve, going though her own epic landlord retrograde issues here in Sedona that are a whole other blog, proof my 5 page letter. A letter I say in all sincerity could be studied for how a tenant can survive a landlord neglect. Then I sent it registered letter that past Friday to the family trust’s new PO box person.
STAYING POSITIVE TO STAY IN SEDONA
I can only hope the newcomer to this HVAC debacle is more reasonable than Bob. I went to great lengths in the email to point out property management is not for Bob if simple things make him angry. Why? I explained I simply want what I bought here. A real house with real HVAC. I am not very hopeful of not getting dragged into an eviction proceeding I will need to fight. After all a PO Box is not how one gives good service to someone who has been a model tenant like me.
Still, Ohom and my friend and assistant Genevieve say to stay positive and so I am. My lessons from all this are already great. The antidote to other’s neglect is self-care. And hold the light against the darkness. I have faith that learning these lessons I will have a fast and full recovery whatever the landlord does in the end.
AMAZING MERCURY MESS
Lots of conflicting info about when this Mercury Retrograde ends. Some astrologers saying it ended June 30th, others saying July 2nd and others still saying July 6th. So how’s that for the bad communications Mercury Retrograde is famed for, not even the expert astrologers can agree when this mess will end?!
“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 inStar 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.
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!