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!
The bad news is time flies. The good news is you’re the pilot. ~Michael Althsuler
It’s 2014 as I meditate in my new Sedona home to be in contact with my 1991 self. I see myself at age 39 working late in my 303 West Madison offices in downtown Chicago on the 19th floor. All the staff has gone home. I’m working harder and longer than everyone as usual.
It’s January 4, 1991. Snow drfits past the big dual pane office windows.
I glance from the windows at an invite on my desk. I’ve been invited to a late New Year’s Eve office party that a competitor property is throwing in the east Loop. I’m debating on going. Parties are not my thing in 1991 or today. My brain hurts at parties. I am a one on one person.
I can see 1991 me gazing nervously across the street at the under construction skyscraper I am the managing partner for, One North Franklin. I am tense as hell because the curtain wall, the very skin of the building is badly behind schedule. I am in danger of losing $ 8 million in guarantees if the building is late in delivery. So 1991 me paces the office like a caged beast.
Back in 2014 I am 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 easily read my 1991 mind:
“Damnit. I wonder if the GC (general contractor) is still working? Should I try to chew his ass out now for screwing up my building or wait to Monday?” says my angry 1991 self.
I’ve always had conversations in my mind with myself like this over important matters. — Way before my spirit awakening in 2010 where I met ET spirits that looked like angels in Italy that put me on missions to help the planet through meditation, missions that have taken me as far as Antarctica. — So this seems like a perfect time to answer myself. And the way this works, dear reader, is it’s done in real-time as I type, so pardon my typos.
“It won’t matter. Nothing you do is going to save this project. Go home to your wife and kids,” I say to my 1991 me.
1991 Ken stops cold in his pace of panic, “Where did that voice come from?” 1991 me hurries to door and looks up the empty hallway.
“I’m in your head,” I say to 1991 me.
“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”
“Your wife is right about the working too hard part. But you are not going nuts,” I say finishing a plate of hash.
A phone call from a client breaks my connection to 1991 Ken. An hour later I find in his emerald-green Jaguar driving home to Lake Forest.
“I’m back.” I say in 1991 Ken’s mind almost making him swerve the car off the freeway.
“Who are you and how are you inside my head?” demands 1991 me.
“Who do I sound like?” I say.
“Dad?” 1991 me worries.
“Way off. I’m you, Ken Sheetz 23 years in the future.” I offer gently trying not to sound like the father we both hate for playing mind games with us as a kid.
“You’re me, time traveling from the future like Dr. Who in my head? Ha. Prove you’re me. Tell me something about me no one else could possibly know, ” says Ken of 1991 turning down the Jag’s radio playing the Rolling Stones. ’91 Ken’s free to talk out loud in the privacy of his traveling the express lanes of the Kennedy.
I don’t need to think long and I offer sadly, “You and your wife had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”
“Jesus, you are me. Or maybe just me going nuts. My own voiced aged up in my head,” says ’91 me.
“I can prove I’m real with telling you what will happen tomorrow. Give me a sec to Google January 5, 1991 news.” I say.
“What’s Google?” says ’91 Ken.
“A company that will become to source of all factual knowledge on earth by 2014. I am using it to research… ah, here’s something cool that’s going to happen tomorrow January 5, 1991 that you can use to tell yourself this is all very real, me contacting you telepathically from the future. Redskins 20 – Eagles 6. Redskins win’s final scoring drive is a field goal in the third quarter. And in case you need more proof Randall Cunningham will pass for exactly 205 yards in the game. Impossible to guess that stat.”
“Well, so a future stock on an oracle called Google and the score of a playoff game. Hope this is real,” ’91 me says.
“It is real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer, ” I say sadly.
“What? Am I going to get into a car accident tonight?” shouts ’91 me, eyes darting at the busy Chicago traffic ahead.
“Worse. You heading for the meltdown of your entire financial life. You’ll be returning the Jaguar to the dealer on foot in a year,” says 2014 me sitting at my desk in Sedona feeling like shit and wondering what use it is warning my past self about all this.
“How does this all unravel so fast?”
“A wave of commercial loan failures has the banks taking properties back. By 1994 almost every building in the Loop will have gone back to the lenders. Your building, our building, One North Franklin, we be the pioneer, the poster child, in the banks seizing commercial properties and driving rents into sub 1970 levels. No loan will be sustainable. But since you are the first Barclays Bank is going to annihilate you for their losing $80 million on the project. You’ll be hung out to dry as an example to…” I am interrupted in 2014 by client Nick Edwards who loves calling me on weekends, holidays and evenings. In other words on my time off. Poor 1991 me has to wait 15 minutes for to get back to Ken ’91.
“Sorry, I have a job in social media here in the future. My hours are nuts, ” I say.
“What the hell is social media?” 1991 me says.
“The future. Starts after a dot-com bust of 2000. Only invest in Amazon.com and get some Apple stock. ”
Me in 1991 has progressed to the Edens expressway on the commute home to my million dollar home in the affluent suburb of Lake Forest. A home I will lose in the crash of ’91.
“Why am I’m not working in real estate anymore in 2014?” 1991 says, half glad I am back and half not.
“By 1992 you’re poor as a kid out of college, but brokerage keeps you afloat. By 1995 you start becoming a filmmaker and leave for a life in Hollywood in 2002. You never look back. You’re happy being an artist even though the money sucks,” I say.
“Gloria would never let that happen, ” says Ken 1991.
“She dumps you in 1992 when you fall off the money wagon, with a lot of help from how depressed and angry you are about losing your ass from the skyscraper repo. So you’re free to be the artist you went to college to be,” I say trying to make it all sound wonderful. But I can read the rising fear and panic in my 1991 self, a self that’s still riding high and worth about $12 million at the time.
“This is more than I can handle. I hope it’s my overactive imagination and the Redskins lose tomorrow, ” 1991 me says sadly.
“Seriously, it’s all going to be for the best. You are a great person. You don’t need the Jaguar, the million dollar mansion, the skyscraper, it’s all a trap. You are about to be set free, ” I say brightly in Ken 1991’s sad mind that seems to be filling with quicksand that’s making it hard for me to stay connected to him.
“Bullshit. You’re not telling me all the truth, ” says 1991 me. I forgot how tough and vicious I could be in 1991. I was Chicago’s most ruthless real estate broker. Number one according to the Chicago Sun Times in 1987 and soon to be 1991 developer of the year for building Oprah Winfrey’s Harpo studios while building One North Franklin. No wonder I had no time for my wife and kids. Yeah, I’ve forgotten how super tough I had to be to get to the top of Chicago’s real estate world. And I was driven by showing my asshole of a drill sergeant father I was better than him.
“It won’t be easy for you. Gloria has all the assets in her name to protect everything from the banksters, what we call the obviously fucked up hucksters of finance in 2014. In 1992 Gloria preemptively files for divorce while you separate. She hires the toughest divorce lawyer in Chicago. A ruthless SOB who takes every last dime you have left after the skyscraper goes back to the lender. Worst part of all this is that her preemptive move breaks your heart. You’ve, um, we were sweethearts since college. You don’t see the divorce coming even though you are a ego tripping dick and hard as hell to live with. You end up broke as hell most of the rest of your life after the skyscraper fails, and the divorce hamstrings you, until 2009 when you start a company called BuzzBroz and get back on your feet,” I quickly tell my 1991 self.
“I won’t let any of this shit happen.” says 1991 me bitterly as he pounds the steering wheel. He outweighs 2014 me by 20 pounds and he’s strong as a bull. I’d forgotten how strong I was. Once in a fit of rage I broken a wooden chair in toothpicks with my bare hands..
“You can’t change history,” I say grimly, the voice of my own doom.
“I’ve almost read every science fiction ever written. Using what you’ve told me I simply need to take steps to do things different from you did and presto, new future, ” 91 me says.
“That would mean I wouldn’t do my film career. Wouldn’t become spiritually in 2010 awake filming a SoulDrama workshop in Italy where I saw ET angels that gave me these powers and so I would never be able to telepathically connect to you to share what I just shared. Paradox,” I say.
“So why tell me all this shit?” 91 me shouts. I had a loud mouthed temper back then. Some people think I still do. But I am as gentle as a mouse in 2014 compared to 1991. I am bully at home with my loud voice. My kids trembled in fear of me though I never hit them. My voice was force of nature. No wonder Gloria divorced 1991 me.
“What if when I change the past a new future splits off? No paradox then. You simply become one version of my 2014 possible selves in that scenario,” 1991 me says in excitement, voice tinged with the grace of genius.
“That’s actually quite possible! It’s a 21st century quantum physics theory called multi-verses. Maybe that’s why I called you. To give one of my futures that chance to beat fate,” I say in wonder.
As my savvy 1991 self pulls onto the snowy street of my Lake Forest mansion I quickly add, “Gloria’s a good woman who listens to her mother too much. She’ll stand with you if you’re kinder and gentler with her. No other person you ever date or love is going to click with you like Gloria does. Get out of the skyscraper deal before the spring. Take whatever you can get because or you end up with less than nothing. Get a job in corporate films. Filmmaking in Hollywood is a closed system. You waste ten years of your life out there before waking up spiritually in Italy with the DreamShield and eventually living in Sedona. Staying married might save the relationship with your/my kids, who become seriously fucked up by the divorce. One almost kills themselves as a teen and both never speak to you in 2014,” I say as 1991 me pulls into the driveway.
1991 me is crying now and says, “For the kids sake most of all, thanks for all the info, future me. It rings true. So I’m putting big money on the Redskins to win 20-6 tomorrow. You better be right or I swear I’ll hire a scientist to invent a time machine , find you in 2014 and beat your ass.”
We each have a tearful laugh. My 1991 sense of humor shows the heart is still there and he adds, “With the Redskins winnings I’ll start a small corporate film biz, always wanted to make movies. Our psychic mom always said advertising was what I should be doing. I’ll dump my partnership in the skyscraper to Smeltzer (not real name the guy might sue 2014 me he’s such a dick) who’s always wanted to be top dog.”
“Whoa. Be sure you get that deal in bank first. Don’t give up control to Smeltzer until you do. In my timeline Zeller cannot complete the deal to me for getting out as I started too late in the fall on 1991 but Smeltzer takes over anyways without giving me a penny. Understandable. Smeltzer’s clever. So he won’t be hurt, except for his pride, when the market falls. No bad karma in unloading to Smeltzer. Smart, you 1991 Ken. But don’t be greedy take whatever Smelter offers you. But cash in that bank is king, Kenny boy. Get it from the jerk, or someone else in the partnership, and good luck. Speaking of good luck, call your corporate film biz BuzzBroz. That’s what I call mine in 2009.”
“BuzzBroz, I like this name. Of course I would. I think of it! Any more stock tips or football tips for me about the future?” laughs Ken, chomping at the bit at change the future.
“You already know enough to be a billionaire ten times over. Enough fucking greed!” I say surprised at my anger with my 1991 self. “Greed is killing this world in 2014. Instead use the wealth of your knowledge of the future to help find ways to stop a thing called chemtrails from happening, work on a ending poverty. Be your childhood super hero. BE Superman! — And I do have some better tips for you than stocks. Get some fucking therapy for all the shit we went through as kids with mom and dad. Especially our drill Sargent dad. I didn’t do therapy until after the divorce when I almost killed myself from a suicidal depression.” I say.
“Christ, I hope I can save my family or this gets grim.” 1991 says.
“Yes. Grim than I will share today, but you get through it because you are made of indestructible stuff. Your wife and kids may not be as lucky. One of them almost killed themselves after you got ejected from Lake Forest. So you need that therapy help to save the marriage, to save your/our family. Your/our father really fucked us up BIG TIME. No shame in that. You can be fixed with therapy! An anger guru named Mitch Messer can clear up your anger issues in less than a year. Make you a master of you old childhood rage. Love yourself enough to do that for you and failing loving yourself do it for Gloria and the kids.”
“Ok, Ok, I’ll do it. Mitch Messer. OK. Anger management. I’ll do it. Sheesh. Guess I’m a nag by 2014,” kids 1991 me.
“Fuck you, I mean fuck me. — And change your priorities. Put the kids numero uno. They need you more than you can ever know. You are worthy of their love and Gloria’s. Stop thinking your wife and kids are stupid to love a jerk like you. Family first, that includes our brothers and mom. See less of your father looking for something that ain’t there. He’s hopeless. Never matures to the day he dies. He was born for one thing. To fuck us up. — Learn to meditate. Live from the heart and only take on clients with heart. Our world is dying of a lot things in 2014. Work supporting clients looking to support a better world. Look up a scientist named Patrick Flanagan at a company called PhiSciences and tell him Ken Sheetz of 2014 sent you. He will believe you. He amazing and part of my being able to reach you is from a thing he invented called the Neurophone that boosts IQ. Not a plug. Get one. It will make all this easier for you.”
1991 me pulls into the driveway of my heavenly million dollar home I/we designed personally. Ken ’91 opens the door to the huge kitchen, wondering if it’s too late to save his family life. Gloria and our two kids, Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9, run to the door to greet 1991 me with hugs and kisses. And in that very instant Ken 1991 and Ken 2014 both know that it’s not too late.
I am in tears as I close the blog. This really happened(s). This is not fiction. I save(d) a family. My own.
And I did in time to take my daily meditation hike in Sedona. Peace!
“In the Golden Age it is time embrace paradox!” – Stephanie Sutton, PhiSciences.com
By Ken Sheetz
Happy official first day of the Golden Age. A day I learned all about from Mayan calendar guru Stephanie Sutton, who I am filming with her husband Patrick Flanagan for THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS. It’s such an honor to film this power couple at work in the shift.
Stephanie, who is an enlightened psychologist, has been of great help on my personal work here in Sedona. An unexpected boon for this man healing from my recent narrow escape from the Matrix only 3 years ago after seeing ET angels build the DreamShield in a 2010 vision that awakened me.
I am blessed by this Sedona Golden Age power couple. So blessed. And so I try not to burden Patrick and Stephanie too much with my personal junk I am clearing away to make room for the new me. Yeah, it’s hard enough work making a 50 video web series without throwing my dark childhood wounds and the mess they made of my adult life into the mix.
So on Monday July the 29th 2013, of the Grand Trine long predicted by the Mayans, I book a sessions with my LA gal pal, and newly relocated Sedona intuitive healer Mica Monet. Mica’s one of the stars of this blog of late for the great work she is doing on healing me here when I am not making videos for THE FLANANGAN EXPERIMENTS.
The lovely healer selects a lovely small park for our work beside the Oak Creek. We set up camping chairs Mica likes to use for outdoor sessions on a small bluff overlooking the magical healing waters of the Oak Creek. Mica’s does not call herself and intuitive healer for nothing. She senses my uptight heart and asks me, “What’s wrong, Kenny B?”
“Damned if know, Mica. My messed up heart I guess.” I say plopping into my camping chair. Bugs immediately begin to bug me.
“Close your eyes, Ken, and let’s get started,” says Mica, who looks tired from the high demands of a rapidly growing healing practice here in the red rock country of Sedona.
“Sorry. I don’t want to close my eyes, Mica. I’d rather change-up the session and tell you a story about my heart. It’s related to the love thing,” I say feeling lost from the get go.
“Your call.” says Mica.
“OK. Let me tell you the tale of ‘Ken Sheetz and Global Love.’ On 2.13.11 ETs of the dream shield ask me on the spur of a moment to become a human back-up drive for about 12 hours for all love on planet earth. And I accept. That night before bed all earthly love from the tiniest microbe to the whales of the sea pours into me through my third eye, a fully conscious eyes wide open experience. I was not sleeping or dreaming. All love on earth flooded into me in a beam of data. I went to sleep after filled with a backup copy of all love on earth. What a night that was.”
“See, Ken? You can receive love in a big way after all!” offers Mica brightly.
“No. I was simply a vessel, a backup love-drive space. Nature abhors a vacuum and so I was a perfect subject. But, still, a little of the love from this entire world did leak to my heart. That’s how shut down my heart is, Mica, being a human backup drive to all love on earth is the closest I have come to receiving love.” I say sadly.
“Why do you think the ETs wanted you to do this in the first place? Why this back-up drive to planetary love?” says Mica, the human angel looking for an angle to help wedge open my closed heart.
“The ETs that built the DreamShield used me as human back-up drive in the highly likely event of a solar flare that will wipe all of our memories,” I say. For the first time telling this amazing story to a person and not just blogging about it.
Mica nods calmly for me to continue. Here in Sedona, I love how the unusual is taken as usual.
“On Valentine’s Day 2.14.11,” I further explain to Mica, “I transfer all love that was downloaded into me as a living backup drive from all earth life, big and small, into the Parthenon duplicate in Nashville. I was in Nashville in 2011 just after my father died, who was an alcoholic, doing a planetary meditation to end addiction for Lee McCormick’s Spirit Recovery, one of the largest recovery centers in the state of Tennessee.”
“Interesting how you father plays into all this.” says Mica, trying to take me to my father issues.
“Let’s keep my dad out of this today, OK? I need a break from his junk.”
“Sorry. Go ahead with the ETs and you as a human backup drive to love story.” says Mica.
“Love is all the ETs say we need save of our memories in the event of a solar flare. Rage, hate, fear, all negativity are superfluous. And now that I helped set up Nashville’s Parthenon as the back up drive, ET angels update our planet’s love there each night as we all dream.”
“Love backed up daily in our dream time. Makes sense,” says Mica.
“Thanks. I’ve been blogging about this since 2011, but no one takes what I went through seriously,” I say.
“Seems to me a lot of people believed in you enough to send you to Antarctica to help the ETs halt the pole shift at the end of 2012,” says Mica with a smile, proud she’s rained on my pity party.
“Got me, as usual. You’re good, you. — There’s more to the ETs and me that may give answers about my heart that can only give love not accept it. The ETs showed me in a 2012 meditation in Malibu that I am not quite as human as I appear. Part of me is a sentient program sent from the future. My furthest future earth self is from 4.54 billions of years in the future the ETs who guide me say,” I explain to the patient listener Mica Monet, who nods for me to go on.
“I came here, to this era of the Shift, to be born in 1952. That’s the furthest back in time my DNA sentient program could be sent from 5 billion years out, using that times advanced via wave technology. WAVE is a sci-fi film I made in 2005 about what has turned out to be real. In studying this ET knowledge I have seen that ’52 is the year the cell phone got invented and the exact midpoint between earth’s birth 5 billion years ago and earth’s death 5 billion years from now.”
“Whoa. We’re smack in the middle of earth’s life span here in 2013. Go on, Kenny B, sorry to interrupt” says Mica.
“My future self, and sorry, I don’t have my future self’s name yet to share yet, is from a time when humans are immortal sentient organic machines. Technology and biology have merged.”
Mica listens patiently as the sun fills the little park beside the Oak Creek with golden shafts of light. I am relieved Mica is not looking at me like I am insane and so I press on, ” But in humankind’s evolution, something critical to humanity’s future has been lost.”
“Love?” says the intuitive healer.
“Yes. To be specific, humanity has lost the ability to receive love 5 billion years from now.”
“Hmm, just the way you are feeling, Kenny B.” say Mica.
“Yes. Now that my Antarctica mission is done, this search for the balance of love is the reason I was guided here to Sedona, during the birth of the Golden Age. Here with you and Patrick and Stephanie, and Ed And Kat Preston, and bunches of other people I’ve not met and may never meet.”
A little dog that looks like a miniature lion, a dog I have never met before, strains on its master’s leash line to reach me for a pat on then head. I am grateful for the love interruption to my long story of about being an organic cyborg program from a distant future.
“Dogs are love,” Mica says calmly. “You are being supported with doggie love in telling me all this. Go on, Ken.”
I swat at bugs pestering me, “If I am supported telling this global love tale, one I barely believe myself, why are all these bugs bothering me and not you?”
“You tell me,” says Mica, an expert in keeping you focused in her powerful sessions.
“Sorry to blab about what must sound like my next science fiction screenplay. But for some reason I know it’s important you get my full picture of not just my past, but humanity’s future.”
“Good. But my guides say your answers to solving your one-way love issues are in your past, not your super cool future. Please close your eyes and let me take you back.” Mica says. I sense her frustration at not spirit journeying with me today, like we usually do so gracefully.
A Ginger Rogers of a spirit dancer, Mica is a fantastic dancer and singer. I even have attended some of her Salsa classes. Helps me get out of my writing/editing chair I’ve been glued to for The Flanagan Experiments.
“Sorry. Not feeling up to spirit dancing with you today, Mica Pica. Odd I know. That’s what I thought we’d be doing. But these sessions never are what I expect.” I say softly, wishing I knew what the heck was going on. I love traveling through time and space with Mica. But my heart is as bankrupt as Detroit that filed this week.
“You’re so sad today, Ken. It’s not like you. I want to help,” says Mica kindly. She is one the kindest people I have ever worked in 20 years of therapy with.
“Mica, I have to confess I am literally falling apart on this one-way love DreamShield mission. How I am supposed to live on earth another 50 years, like I was told by the voice of God in 2010 in Italy?” I blubber on, stories still pouring out of me. “In the far future, when earth’s red sun grows to the point where it will soon swallow the earth whole, where my furthest future life is sent backwards in time to be with you here in this park today, love is just a highly sophisticated program that merely replicates love behaviors. Our race has lost its way on the road to progress when it comes to love 5 billion years from today, this lost day of the Grand Trine.”
“I don’t believe humanity’s future is that bleak. Sounds more like some wild expression of clever ego subterfuge,” says Mica.
“No this future is as real as you sitting in that chair, Mica. Only one possible Quantum future, I grant you. But it’s the future I come from. A future that has pluses. Humanity lives in peaceful co-existence with all of nature for example.” I offer.
“But, Ken, it matters not if there is no heart and soul in such harmony, only existence,” says Mica.
“Ah, what’s the use? I accept I am like the character Tin Man in THE WIZARD OF OZ, wanting to find a heart… but never really getting one from the con man wizard.” I grouch.
“Ken, you are a human in this life. One with a big heart. Have faith the answers will come. Today is just not the day, perhaps. Let’s go on with the session. We may still get there on this Grand Trine.” says Mica, still hoping for a miracle breakthough.
“Screw the Grand Trine, there’ill be another one some other life. Let’s call it. Nothing more to say as ‘the love explorer from the future’. Love? Ha! Me? I know zippo of real love. Every love I’ve had has been nothing more than parallel play style love, never true love. As you painfully know, I am silly Pepe Le Pew in relationship. All chase and when I do catch a woman and she loves me, “warts and all” as my Canadian fiancée once lovingly told me. Well, what do I do? Run! Leaving a wake of broken hearts in my path of destruction. I am sick of my life-like nothingness,” I say sounding gloomier by the second.
“Didn’t I do a good job of seeing how you’d dump me if you caught me, Pepe Le Sheetz?” Mica teases me to cheer me up, referring to the title of a blog I wrote about my humorous love chase of her she rightly shut down and which has led to this entire discovery. But now one that’s led to this very serious moment where all seems hopeless. Thoughts of an early death seem pleasant compared to the loveless torture of my life, but I keep those thoughts to myself as the session is over and I don’t want to keep Mica.
Instead I say to Mica, “I need to stop looking for that magic woman, like you, who can break open the safe of my heart. She doesn’t exist. I am alone, like ‘Solitary Man’ the old Neil Diamond song.”
“At what age did the shutting down of your ability to receive love start, Ken?”
“The easy answer is the abuse I started suffered from my “bipolar” dad as a toddler or even in the womb when he’s . But I’ve worked through all my dad junk.” I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
“You’ve not really forgiven him have you?”
“Forget about it, Mica. I will never forgive my father for the abuse. It’s never really going to happen. Yeah, I’ve pretended to forgive my dad. But he was a fucking nut job and deserves no forgiveness from me. He needed to seek medical help with his aliment he brutally inflicted on me, me and the whole family, by minute by excruciating minute!” I say packing up my folding chair.
“You don’t have to say what you father did to abuse you was right to forgive him,” offers Mica as she packs up her folding chair too, accepting the session if toast.
As we head for the parking lot I say, “I am so done with Wild Bill, as my little brother Fred and I named him long before there the movie “Silence of the Lambs.” Done with his ruining my life. I’ve forgiven my father all I can. I can never completely forgive him. Never.”
“How are you feeling saying that, Ken?” says Mica still trying to heal me into forgiving my fucked up father as we head for the parking lot. This woman never quits.
“I feel nothing. I am in full android mode. Far from what I expected on my session to find answers to love on this not-so-Grand-Trine.” I kid as I tuck the folding chairs into the back of Mica’s love bug VW.
Mica smiles, sad for me, and says hoping into her love bug VW Beetle, “Don’t give up, Kenny B. Never let your vision of one possible future, from the infinite futures out there, hold you back from being able to love fully. The future is not set. Look to the past which is set for answers.”
“Thanks, Mica Pica from Cosat Rica. But I think I’ve reached the end of my rope trying to figure my love mess out.” I say grimly as though reading my own death sentence.
“Are you OK?” Mica says starting her car. “We can grab dinner together if you want to talk more. You did cancel your Salsa lessons with me for after.”
“Yeah, remind me to never combine therapy and dance lessons again,” I say managing a sad chuckle. “I’ll be fine. Take care, Mica,” I lie as I walk quickly to my car and drive off into the Sedona sunset.
Mica’s session may seem like it was a failure on the surface, but after my mood lifted over expecting too much on Stephanie Sutton’s Grand Trine. Yes, telling my cyber-self story of love and the human backup drive 2011 epic vision was deeply healing somehow. A few days later meditating about Mica’s advice to forgive me dad in whatever way without accepting the abuse he dumped on me, it hits me:
My dad was a bipolar inner twin! One from a good universe and one from a negative one. I can forgive the good twin within my father without forgiving his dark twin. The caption on the photo of my dad on this blog is my forgiveness letter to him. I wrote after the meditation. Still a lot of bitterness leaks from it. But it’s a start to putting my father’s abuse truly behind me. I have hope.
“Unity to be real must stand the severest strain without breaking.” – Mahatma Gandhi
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
I was back a week in Hollywood from Nashville, Wisconsin, Florida, Nassau and the Bermuda Triangle from 7 back to back planetary meditations from such amazing stuff as closing the damaged Merkabah in the Bermuda Triangle, reducing hurricanes, curing earth of addictions, making a backup copy for all the love of the earth and more.
Exciting and uplifting as it all was, promoting, filming, conductimng the meditations and distributing it all on the web in the various outlets I’d created for the work to achieve DreamShield’s heavenly task to help 1 billion people to meditate as one to shift us in to a new golden age, I was exhausted.
Despite my exhaustion I was getting “angel” messages that a 3.11.11 meditation was a critical mediation date and that we should dance.
Laura De Leon, who blessedly for me and the planet gives the DreamShield project so much of her great spiritual experience and talent, was busy helping her husband take her mother-in-law through hospice. So I was minus her usual contributions.
On top of that I was then busy helping Laura get back and forth to Bob at the nursing home and doing some simple chores at their lovely home near Universal Studios. So I was minus me. It was the first time in my life I’ve humbled myself to simply be of service to friends in need. I especially enjoyed caring for the Jenkis family’s little dog Bella. Laura had done so much helping me with the complex grief of losing my father it was the least I could do.
When I walked into the nursing home, dropping Laura off to Bob and his sweet mother, who was a little nearer to death each tender day, I passed old folks. I’m in my 50s but as the old eyes raised to look at me from their wheel chairs I felt like a kid. The angels had gifted me by taking away my old fear I had of dying in one of these places one day myself. You see, I’d been an orderly in a nursing home in college and feared the homes ever since.
But stiill all this helping of the Jenkis family and 25 back to back meditations since 10.10.10 was burning the candle on both ends and 12.12.12 was still a long way off.
After taking the wonderful light worker, holistic doctor and palmist Sarah Larsen away from her family for a week in Nashville at Lee McCormick’s Spirit Recovery Ranch and Mt. Shasta I did not feel I could ask her to step up. Mica Monet had also just hosted a Valentine’s mediation.
ONENESS CANNOT BE STOPPED
On 2.25.11 I was was still getting those pesky angel signals, just two weeks before 3.11.11, so I sent out a request for help to the amazing and growing DreamShield Facebook group, along with emails to a few key team members who I thought might be fresh.
Ramon Govea, a young multi-talented Hollywood friend who has been at my side since DreamShield began was in touch immediately and volunteered to host 3.11.11. His co-host would be Kara Mooney who I had recently learned was interested in DreamShield from on Facebook.
The angels had told me they wanted us to dance on 3.1.11. As usual they loved to surprise me and we only had a little over two weeks to pull major event together.
As 3.11.11 neared I felt I was working in my sleep. So imagine how pleased that Kalix Sky our DJ that Kara and Ramon had hired for the event was helping us draw a crowd. Kalix was just what we needed. Laura and Sarah each let me blast out invites to their facebook friends on their behalf and soon we had about 100 people coming.
Laura and Bob’s mom passed 3 days before the event. I’d prepared Ramon and Kara for the fact Laura might miss the event. But Laura cares so much for the work that she still performed that night and performed beautifully.
Ramon gave a great and personable presentation on 2012 along with Kara who in turn performed a lovely meditati0n on forgiveness.
Here’s how it all turned out. And as you see at the end of the video the angels did give me a vision, the stinkers. I stood upon the dance floor at 11:11 a recited what I was seeing to some awesome music Kalix had whipped up for us. I saw the angels fly from the dance hall, their feathers brushing the guest as they took off flying right through the skyscrapers of downtown LA. And I channeled a message from the archangel Michael who surprised me when he ended my vision with a personal message to the crowd:
“Dance your asses off!” – Archangel Michael
AFTER VISIONS WHILE DOG WALKING
Next day as I walked Bella one last time an eyes open after vision began. I sometimes get my best visions when my mind is distracted by the mundane like shaving. Now dog walking can be added to the list of vision points. I stopped in my tracks in wonder, Bella tugging at the leash.
I was back on 3.11.11. I saw archangel Michael fly off from our our dance hall with impossible speed and grace that would make Superman envious. The angels followed Michael to various junction points on the crystaline grid, a grid for 2012’s work the ascended masters had built eons ago to assure our successful transition. Using the energy from our fantastic human dancers at the Oneness event Michael and his legion of angels strengthened the grid 11 times 11 over.
Next, flying in formation, Micheal led the angels to spin the energy bands that power the DreamShield, refreshing the shield and hopefully me and the rest of our global dream team of cutting edge light workers!
The work for a gentle 2012 was flying along and getting cooler and more fun all the time.
Dance with the angels of DreamShield!
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‘The most pitiful among men is he who turns his dreams into silver and gold.” – Kahlil Gibran
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
The day before Valentine’s Day Dr. Sarah Larsen was homesick for her kids and husband back in LA. And who could blame her? Since her amazing 10.10.10 LA event she had been on the road for DreamShield almost more than she had been home.
The angels had demanded much of her and she’d gladly answered the call. Her love and wisdom have benefited this grouchy reluctant light worker greatly, and though her patience with me for all the times of wanted to quit had dimmed a bit, it still shone brightly in her imploring eyes.
So I checked with the airline to see if we could cut our trip a few days short and get Sarah home in time for Valentine’s Day. Alas for the homesick doctor, airfares were to costly to make the change. In better times I would have rewarded such a tireless worker with tickets but spirit work does not pay much in earthly terms and so the doctor would have to spend Valentine’s in Nashville. Sarah made the best of it getting in touch with old friends while I caught up on my blogging about the trip.
On the eve before Valentine’s Day as I lay down on Rachel and Robert’s day bed I thought about an article I’d read on the plane from LA about the pole shift in Mayan predictions about 2012. Some of these so-called experts on the human mind and 2012 speculate humanity will lose its entire memory due to this fact our thoughts are stored as electromagnetic energy.
I thought about Sarah losing memory of the love of her husband Greg and her kids Tye-Tye and Jamsine and of me and my family and friends in such a drastic pole shift. Yep. It was another one of those negative visualization fear things, the ungentle 2012 stuff we undo in DreamShield.
So despite my total exhaustion from the Medicine Wheel planetary addiction meditation that had brought us here, I asked the angels what we could do to protect the memory of everyone’s love for one another on our little blue world.
In a flash of divine inspiration I knew all the empty space left inside me that I was feeling from Lee McCormick’s Spirit Recovery ranch addiction meditation had made me a storage receiver, a vessel, to hold a back up copy all of earth’s love. “Me? Holder of earth’s love?” I grouched to myself or whatever angels might be listening.
I wrapped myself in blankets like a robe and sat myself up on the edge of the day bed. I looked up at the eye shaped transom over Robert and Rachel’s front door. The transom became a bright computer screen filled with data. A beam of data shot from the transom as the memories of love of all earth’s billions flooded into my mind. I’d had “downloads” – a light worker term that I think sounds too sc-fi –before, but nothing on this scale. This was the mother of all downloads.
Now the next wave of love data for all living creatures, big and small, flooded into me. I’d not expected to be this Noah’s Ark of love. But I accepted it’s beauty with an amazed smile. Next came the love of the trees for the sky. Last even our bacteria’s love flooded me. “Bacteria feel love? Come on.” I griped to the angels who simply giggled at the sight of this exhausted middle-aged businessman turned reluctant light worker wrapped in a blanket like an Indian chief.
Yep, I feel many times I was picked for this work because it’s some kind of cosmic reality show. I must be a hoot in the Orion’s belt system.
Next morning, Valentine’s Day, Sarah asked me how I’d slept. “Not much.” I said, adding like this was all her fault somehow, ” I was a receiver of a back up copy of all the love of the earth all night. Today sometime I’ve been told broadcast this love into the back up copy of the Parthenon in downtown Nashville.”
Sarah Larsen simply smiled and said, “Cool. I’m going to call Greg and wish him a Happy Valentine’s Day.” And with an attitude like this sort of thing happens every day Sarah headed off to another room to call Greg.
Later that amazing Valentine’s Day where I felt my head might explode it was so full of love, I in fact made the trip to the Parthenon on my own while Sarah went to an exhibit Greg’s art. Years earlier the two met and fell in love here in Nashville before marrying and moving to LA.
Rachel and Sarah dropped me off promising to pick me up at 5:30 PM as my cell phone was out of juice. I walked around the Parthenon, an exact copy of the original in Greece built in 1897, perfect for a back copy holder of earth’s love, walked about it three times I was told by the angels, I felt like some kind of lonely odd ball. But I did my planetary meditation job and the couples perched on the steps kissed as the red lights of Valentine’s Day came up.
This made me all the more lonely. I’ve not been in a conventional relationship in years. Why pick a brokenhearted divorced man as the holder of earth’s love I wonder as I made the video you see below? I suppose my empty heart left more space for the angels to make me a vessel of all earth’s love.
I asked as a reward for this crazy work — hey it never hurts to ask –as I circled the Parthenon, completing this ritual of love transmission to the statue of Athena within the structure, that one day through this work I can find a great mate who can put up with the paradox of my pessimistic yet optimistic nature.
So, dear reader, page mark this blog. And if the the North and South pole’s shift come 2012, as many so-called experts predict, and you wake up without a memory of who you love, get thee to Nashville and the Parthenon. The back-up memory of all you love awaits there in the heart of the statute of the goddess Athena.
What’s cool is the angels tell me they update the memories each night into Athena. Angels are so clever. The little stinkers.
PS. In typical light worker fashion Sarah was late picking me up. I was not dressed warm enough as the sun set over the Parthenon and I sat there shivering in the cold like some homeless nut case for over 20 minutes past the agreed to 5:30 pickup time. I found myself wishing to be back working with my old Chicago real estate buddies, by whom you could set your watch, while making millions as I had in the past when I built skyscrapers instead of this silly nonsense.
Don’t worry. I got over it when I saw Greg and the kids welcome Sarah home from Nashville at LAX with such love. Yep. I’m still on the job of a gentle 2012. Here’s Sarah daughter Jasmine “Jazzy” singing along with her dad at an Agape concert. Who wouldn’t be homesick in Nashville, on Valetine’s Day with love like this waiting for them back in LA?
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It’s often just enough to be with someone. I don’t need to touch them. Not even talk. A feeling passes between you both. You’re not alone. -Marylin Monroe, on the topic of Enough
DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz
Lee McCormick’s amazing 2000 acre Spirit Recovery ranch, site for the 2/12/11 DreamShield Planetary Addiction Meditation, had only one drawback for out of towners… lack of nearby restaurants.
Me and my fellow spoiled brats from LA for this trip, Bradley Quick and Dr. Sarah Larsen, were desperate for the health food choice we enjoy back home. The only restaurant options, still about a 15 minute ride from the ranch, are McDonald’s or an all you can eat buffet, where the choices are… fried this or fried that.
So when Renato Longato, world famous UFO expert, finished his presentation on ETs and their role in 2012 and Lee herded us back to the all fried food you can eat spot again, I let a groan slip out. But, even though the food was deadly, the company of large group who stuck us for the meditation made up for it with their lively passion and curiosity about DreamShield.
I griped to Lee that all this bad food was going to blur my visions at the wheel. Lee simply chuckled and went on eating his fried chicken. Lucky for me not much phases Lee. As a recovery guru and cattle rancher he’s seen it all. Lee was the perfect host for this spirit shindig to balance out all my nervousness and exhaustion over this very personal mediation. You see, I had just given the eulogy at my father’s funeral only 3 weeks prior to this event. A father whose drinking escapades were legend in my home town of Milwaukee. Drinking which had decimated my childhood and made me into the lovable neurotic who blogs this stuff as much for self-therapy as to report to you on the birth of the New Age.
Reports I make as objectively as I can, while being the dude having all these visions to help usher in a gentle 2012 and trying to film it all at the same time. How about a budget for an assistant and camera man, angels, ETs, whatever you are? Maybe even a private jet as they’ve told me I need to do DreamShield personally in all 24 times zones and activate a billion people by 2012. Guess they like to keep me humble with lack of funding. Makes this funnier and they do love to laugh at this cynic of a psychic. I swear this all is some kind of futuristic reality show at times where we are the cameras.
Heavy snows two days before had turned the field, where Lee 10 years earlier had built the medicine wheel, to mud. My inner Larry David of a perfectionist said about the mud and cold, “Couldn’t the angels have picked a pleasant day in May for all this?” But I stopped myself from griping out loud before I annoyed Lee again. “Enough with the whine festival, ” I told myself. “This mud is going to be perfect for grounding this great group of people to the earth. We are electrical energy after and and what better conductor than the mud the fates had provided?”
The medicine wheel was working already. I had officially stopped my negative self-talk that re-erupted in me after Dad’s funeral, like some dormant volcano of fear. I was feeling up to the task of this great day my higher self had brought about. Laura De Leon of MyMysticMuse‘s work finally kicked into gear. I was ready to do battle with addiction. Or least not go off and down a bottle of tequila out of fear of messing all this up for earth’s gentle 2012.
“A church without walls”, as one of ranch hands described Lee’s medicine wheel, is the perfect description. The energy of the growing crowd was palpable. Lee personally selected the stones of his medicine wheel from the old Pinewood estate after it had burned. The stones of that estate have great energy because Pinewood’s owner would buy slaves and then set them free on these lands! Lands where also a great Native American people had ruled in total freedom before the white man came along and poisoned the tribes with their fire water.
Yes, I sensed the Native American spirits wanted this addiction meditation to work. I sensed also the spirit of Kokopelli leading his people in this mighty task for earth many times on this trip. He was showing up in pranks. Kokopelli is part trickster spirit after all. I had almost named my film company for him eight years ago when I moved to Hollywood before chickening out. Maybe when I am done with all this 2012 stuff and can get back to making movies I will name a new film Kokopelli Films in his honor. Yeah.
Lee’s medicine wheel for this DreamShield meditation to free earth of addiction by 2012 was therefore a perfect choice. More perfect than I knew at the time of my vision, complete with diagrams of how to shape and work the group that came to me in dreams months ahead of time.
Lee McCormick walked the medicine wheel while Sarah Wellborn placed crystals from Mt. Shasta on the stones.
The group grew as trucks made their way through the muddy field loaded with cargoes of excited people. People who felt so empowered for the work by Lee’s great day of events leading to this that I could feel their passion for today’s work from a mile off. I mean that literally, a mile off. Putting my inner cynic aside, I can sense amazing stuff ever since Italy, where my DNA got activated and my life got turned upside down.
Here at Lee’s wheel, I realized the angels — or ETs who guide this strange and wonder filled work from a cloud or spaceship or my own overactive brain — had picked this sacred spot for this DreamShield meditation, as much for it’s location on the earth’s chakrah system for the amazing Tennessee folks who were now showing up in droves. Numbers of people I’d not expected in such a remote location 40 miles from Nashville in the middle of Lee’s cattle ranch that doubles as one of America’s leading recovery centers. Such is Lee’s respectability in the amazing Conscious Nashville group he has helped foster.
I made sure I had pals Sarah Larsen and Bradley Quick beside me as I was still feeling weak from the funeral and nearly 3 months of non-stop DreamSheild planetary meditations without any real budget. I was running a global project from modest social media fees via my BuzzBroz company. It had all seemed so simple after Italy. Have a 10.10.10 global celebration and then go back to my normal life. That was 26 planetary meditations ago…
So I was exhausted for the big one. The meditation that meant more to me personally than any other. I had not evolved much, I had simply become a spiritual-aholic instead of a work-aholic. Yeah, this meditation was needed for me personally. I’d missed most of my kids’ childhoods working to be Chicago’s number 1 commercial real estate broker. Nothing was ever enough.
VISIONS AT THE WHEEL
What energized me was Lee’s advice to me and the crowd, shouting over the stiff cold wind, “We gather today for a noble cause. Our reality is what we choose to make it in this world. And we choose to believe there can be an end to addiction on this world. It’s time. And the cool thing is we don’t have to believe in this work for it TO work. We just have to show up and express our intent. Feel it with our heart and soul. In our bones.”
With that Lee turned it over to me. “This is Ken Sheetz of DreamShield who will conduct this planetary meditation. He sees things.”
Smiling at Lee’s perfect intro, I went with the flow and got the crowd laughing saying, “Think of me Larry David of the spirit world. I don’t know how or why the angels chose me in Italy for this work… when I don’t believe in them half the time. But Lee is right. Somehow the job gets done anyways when I just show up where they tell me to go. I’m happy the angels let me see what they are doing, despite my lack of 100% faith in what they let me somehow see.” Excited relief spread through the gathering as I added, “And don’t feel bad if you don’t see what I see or see nothing at all in this meditation. You might even count yourself lucky you see nothing all this angels stuff has turned my life upside down.”
Later a meditation guest would thank me for “keeping it real.”
I passed the mediation ball to Dr. Sarah Larsen to open this meditation with her beautiful OMs. She picked 13 OMs as the number to get the group into an energized connected space. As Sarah OMed, the magic in my mind began to happen once again. I saw, eyes closed, hundreds if not thousands of earth angels watching us 60 souls gathered to form the intent to rid the world of addiction.
My voice cracked as I told the crowd what I was seeing. You see dear reader, I’d thought my visions were somehow at an end but here they were a host of angels ready to protect us and amplify our energy as we set the intention to end earth’s addiction at Lee’s medicine wheel!
This art piece by Gore Dustave is very close to what I saw. I opened my eyes and shared my relief and excitement with the group. “These are not like the angels I saw in Italy. The are human formed, earth angels.” I felt proud these were not the wonderful, if scary, ET angels from Italy working this meditation with us. These were are kindred earth angels curing the earth of addictions.
I closed my eyes again and for the first time with such a large group and shared vision as they came into my head. About my head for a bit. I feel it’s overly large and that I’d easily weigh in under 200 pounds with a more normal sized head. But I digress. Back to Lee’s medicine wheel…
I told the crowd, “I see a golden tumbler that holds the DNA code in this earth chakra beneath the medicine wheel. We are going to unlock this tumbler of gold. Gold that represents, according to some ET experts, humanity’s enslavement from the time we were genetically engineered from apes to mine this world of gold. And it’s this ET engineered drive to never have enough that lies at the heart of all our addiction here on earth. The time has time for us as a species to rise above our enslavement. Let the ancient aliens have their gold we want to be free!”
Note: All this is as close as I can recall my words or anyone’s at the wheel. I don’t have a camera crew at this stage of this underfunded and over ambitious gentle 2012 project. So I may have inadvertently made myself sound better than real life in this blog. Such is the benefit of not having a camera crew.
I then led the group in a meditation chant while we visualized a golden triangle forming within the black hole that lies within each of us as follows:
“Happy. Healthy. And whole!” Four times we repeated this simple triangular mantra together. Success. I saw another tumbler in the earth unlock like a telescope of gold that extended to the earth’s core. It fed us an enormous energy surge I could feel in the mud as I held out my hands.
An angel whispered to me at the wheel, “You will become a new species of homo sapiens. One that will care for each other and this world as equals in ways you cannot even imagine.”
My head was happily spinning in this deep waking dream of healing for earth in the mud at the wheel. This was going far better than I had possibly hoped. I introduced Sarah Wellborn of the west coast spiritual mecca Mt. Shasta. This other Sarah, many Sarah’s have appeared in this work as their name means “Light of God”, had earlier told me she had some very special songs she wanted to share at the wheel. I saw at this moment that her songs were sonic codes to unlock the golden DNA tumbler in the earth’s chakrah.
As a former builder, a man of schedules and budgets who built Oprah’s Harpo studios, I often wonder why the angels don’t give me more clear plans ahead of time. But I went with the divine guidance flow and turned things over to Sarah Wellborn.
The group and I chanted along with Sarah Wellborn’s very beautiful and other worldly sounding singing, singing that I hope to God Lee’s videographer captured for history and I was too busy running a mediation to film. Just as I was fussing about this to myself in my hyper mind I saw the Virgin Mary in glory, radiating healing energy down upon us from a cloud above. You heard me. The Virgin Mary.
UFO expert Renato had told us in his lecture before the DreamShield that ETs, looking not to shock us, would appear to one race as say Shiva, or Muhamed or as the Virgin Mary depending on your cultural heritage. I wonder now as I write if this was what was going on here at Lee’s amazing medicine wheel. You see I am not religious. So I’d be about the last guy you’d expect to see angels, let alone the mother of Christ.
Note: This is not the the best photo of what I saw of the Virgin Mary, unlike the fairly accurate angels one depicted above in the blog. This Virgin Mary was more classic in my vision and radiant in all directions not just her hands. Without a CG artist I can’t describe the majesty of the parting clouds that Mary appeared to me from. Sigh. This is hard on me as filmmaker as I want to truly share all this amazing stuff with you fully. I guess in the hopes you might believe me more. That’s silly I know. The best books do not come with pictures.
It’s taken me days to get the nerve up to write of this because it all sounds so crazy. I keep thinking the men in white jackets are coming for me when, as Lee said, I “see things.” Well, at least I am getting faster at accepting these amazing visions. It took me three months to get up my nerve to report on the angels in Italy.
Yes, dear reader. This blog is the first I am sharing of the Virgin Mary vision. The goddess as the light workers see her, the divine feminine was with us.
I relaxed into Sarah’s beautiful song deeper. She invited us all to join her in our own tones. We sounded alien. A bit like the choir from 2001, only prettier. That damn song annoys me after a while. Sarah’s song was beautiful, but 2001-like-ape scene is how it felt. We were like the apes ready to evolved when we unlocked the golden DNA tumbler in the earth here 40 miles west of Nashville. Lee had explained to me our DreamShield team earlier that day that the earth on this part of the globe holds huge limestone deposits and is naturally one of the purest points on the planet for what we were doing.
I held forth my trembling hands and grabbed hold of the golden tumbler I could see in my mind’s eye. With each of Sarah’s new combination tunes and chants I turned the giant golden lock within the earth. Gone was the scared, little Ken, I was fully my higher self working with the spirits of angels, Indains, cowboys, the Virgin Mary, ETs an my new Nashville and old LA friends. I smiled at Sarah Larsen and Bradley Quick who had somehow moved, without my directing them, into the triangular pattern you see in this diagram that came to me in a dream last fall.
Suddenly I saw my father having a Guiness in bar in heaven. He downed half a glass and with a pleased look of satisfaction said, “Enough.”
Then Dad smiles at me as he pushed away from the heavenly bar. I shouted this vision to the group and asked if anyone else was seeing visions or feeling something. A young man shouted, “I see a new golden leaf!”
“Yes!” I shouted back like an excited kid. “New growth for the Golden Age that dawns here today! I see the DNA beginning to shift!”
Sarah Wellborn’s amazing song of alien sounding stopped. She paused and said, “This next one is very playful. It’s for the elementals.” Her song for the elementals that followed was so playful and joyous that it kept me from getting to serious over my Dad’s Guinness appearance at the wheel. Not at the wheel but in a dream the next morning I would see these brown muddy fields we stood filled with grass of a green spring and thousands of white elementals dancing about Lee’s medicine wheel. The playful white creatures looked a like the elementals in SPIRITED AWAY, only not so weird.
The shift was on, as singer Shawn Gallaway had sung the night before at the Lee’s Conscious Music before a packed crowd of 300.
Later I’d tell my middle brother only the part of my vision of Dad pushing away after half a Guinness, who before the trip to Nashville had expressed complete disbelief in this DreamShield meditation’s ability to heal earth’s addiction. My brother, who been an even bigger cynic than me about this addiction meditation, was touched and said, “Yeah, Pops never left a drink half-finished beer in his life.”
It’s my deepest wish and desire that we accomplished the mission of freedom for the earth from all addiction. But for me and my family the vision of Dad in heaven satisfied with his half Guiness means more to me than all my visions since May in 2010 put together. Sorry, Virgin Mary and host of angels. I’m just being honest here while thanking you for all your blessings and help.
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