“Everyone is an abused child when you think about what governments do.” – Tim Roth

DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz

Before I start, I want to warn those sensitive to family abuse stories that this is not a blog post for you.  I share this true and very personal family story for only one reason, to encourage people who wish to be part of DreamShield’s mission to heal our planet to know that you might be healed personally as a reward as I have.

I share so that you might understand just how powerful the healing of this work is to take the darkest thing that ever happened in my dark childhood and to heal me when I was not even looking for that. These miracles of DreamShield have a life of their own.

l love my father who passed just 6 weeks ago.  I love him for all the good he did despite a lot of the nasty stuff.  Because no matter how many times he faltered I always knew he loved me.  I am amazed to report to you that I speak with his spirit from the afterlife.  In fact I’d go so far as to say Dad and I have talked a lot more in the 6 weeks since he died than any similar stretch of time when he was alive.

But I ask, dear reader, that you realize my father was a blue-collar man born of the early 20th century, a man without a father growing up to teach him any better, a man whose Irish temper got the better of him when it came to drink, and that you not please judge but learn from his mistakes.  Mistakes for which he is telling me as  write that he is deeply sorry to all in our family.  I admire his wanting me to share this.  Very like Dad, a Korean War vet, who never lacked courage.


I was home at last in LA, back from the Nashville’s planetary meditation at Lee McCormick’s amazing Spirit Recovery Ranch where we did a DreamShield to free the earth from addiction by 2012.  I was beyond exhausted from dozens of DreamShield meditations, the travel and my father’s recent funeral back in my home state of Wisconsin.  So I slept like a log that cold February night, cold that is by LA standards.

As the early morning sun tugged at the blinds I lay on my stomach in bed in a half-slumber. My face was buried in my pillow and I felt happy to be back in the city of angels, home base on this world for the work of a gentle 2012.  Still tired even after a good night’s sleep, I started to wonder if I wanted to do another mediation again for a long time.  Maybe never.  My inner cynic rambled on in my head, “None of this vision stuff real.  You can’t monetize this crazy stuff.  What’s the point?  Wake up and smell the coffee, dreamer.”

I was about to get out of bed and start my day with a “Quick Workout” that client, pal, roomie, radio talk show host and fitness guru Bradley Quick had personally designed for me, when I felt icy fingers on my back!

“Lay still.” The voice of my recently passed father groused, “Let me do this.”

In my mind’s eye I clearly saw a glowing blue gel spread into deep wide crevices that laced my back.  Lash marks that shocked me they were so infected and wicked looking.  But wherever Dad spread the magical blue gel the wounds closed up and healed perfectly, giving off a light puff of vapor.

How’d my back get like this?

September 21, 1966

It all started when my baby brother Bruce, mommy’s favorite who she called “Dolly”, teased me about getting a savings bond for my 13th birthday instead of a space station toy I wanted.  I smacked Bruce, only 6 at the time, square in the jaw with a fist full of rage.

Dad, full of beer from the excuse to drink for my birthday dinner at our favorite Italian restaurant Di Marini’s, set to teach me a lesson in brotherly love with the back with his leather belt.  “Tell Bruce you’re sorry you hit him!” he shouted, whipping me ever harder when I refused.

To my horror, my mother, holding Bruce sobbing in her arms from his cut bloody lip, cheered my father on.  Snap, snap, snap, the thick brown leather belt cracked as it dug deep into my back and, worse, my soul.  Bruce jeered dad on too, “Hit him, Daddy!  Hit him!”

I turned from the beating and shot my mother and Bruce a look of pure hate that shut both of them up.  My brother Fred, who most of the time got it worse from Dad watched from the sidelines in paralyzed terror, not knowing if it was safe to even cry.

Blood began to soak through my paisley 60s style dress shirt.  Mom shoved Bruce out of the room and begged for Dad to stop.  But Dad was no longer in control.  He shoved her backward, knocking her onto the bed. “You want this belt?!  You want it, bicth?”

“Fuck you!” I heard myself say.  Dad spun from Mom.  I’d drawn the demon back to me to save her.  SNAP!  SNAP!  SNAP!  The belt came down on me releasing an explosion of pain that made me see stars.

Every demon in every bottle of booze Dad had ever drank took possession of this normally sweet man.  “Say your sorry for hurting you brother, you little shit, and this will stop.”‘

“Fuck you!” I shouted into the rug.  He tried to whip the belt at my face but I curled into a ball, face to the floor.

I refused to cry and he picked up the power and intensity of the beating.  I began to lose consciousness.

If I died under the lash it would be fine with me.  Anything to escape this crazy drunk who could beat me like this on my own birthday.  This kind of rocket sled ride from happiness to hell on earth was nothing new on any birthday or holiday in my nutty childhood.

My Grandparents

Grandma gave up yelling at Dad to stop and dove on to my father’s back and pulled at his curly black hair.  Dad shook the old woman off him like he was a wild bucking bronco and the poor thing fell onto footstool breaking it.  It was Grandma’s sobbing in pain that snapped dad out of beating me.  When he stooped to take care of her mom whisked me off to my room and closed me in.

My back was on fire.  I could feel blood pouring all the way down the backs of my legs.  Sometime during the night when I was asleep, or maybe I just blacked out, I was bandaged up.  I don’t recall who did the job.  All is a blur here in my sad story.  To this day it’s hard for me to celebrate my birthday or any holiday.  You can’t know how crazy these happy dates became in my life.  It seemed at times like Dad was on a mission to rob my childhood of any joy.

Next morning, after what thankfully would be the last and worst beating of my life as I would soon grow tall and strong and not to ever be messed with, I was still in shock.  I remember standing, head poking out between the opening of the two swinging  garage doors to the alley, drooling like the village idiot to the shock of passing neighbors.  Dad got a call from one of the worried families, the “normal” families, and he yanked me from the garage and tossed me in my bedroom.  I must have I spent half my childhood locked in that bedroom.  I started to like it after while and became a loner in the relative safety of my room, living in comic books and my drawings.

Dad pulled off his belt and shouted he was ready to go beat some sense into my thick hide.  But seeing what a drooling mess he’d made of his handsome son his heart was not in it.  No, Dad was sober and he could see his rough handling had torn open the bandages on my back.  I was bleeding again.

He spun to leave my bedroom in disgust and I dove and grabbed hold of his leg, “I’m sorry, Dad. I had got what I deserved. Bruce is little I should never have hit him like that.  I’m sorry,” I whimpered like one of the many dogs my Dad had taken his rage out on in my childhood.  Dad softened with his sober shame and left me in my bedroom without another word.

Grandma snuck in a little later as it was getting dark with some balm for my re-opened back wounds.  “We need to get this boy to hospital!” she shouted, tears running down her chubby Irish cheeks.  No reply from Mom or Dad.

Grandlma hugged me to her ample bosom and cooed in her soft Irish accent, “You poor, poor thing.  Kenny, don’t you tell my idiot son he was right to beat you like some dog.  No!  Your Pa was wrong to beat you like that.  Wrong!”  My icy heart thawed and I wept in Grandma’s arms.  Wept for the first time since the beating had started.

My father had been listening at the door.  The birthday from hell ended with him evicting my grandmother for her kind words to me.  I looked down from my second floor window as he literally tossed her into the street.

By Monday for school I was mostly coherent but still deep in shock, barley able to speak.  In gym class the teacher noticed blood soaking through my white T-shirt.  I was sent to the Principal’s office.

“Take off your shirt, please,” the bald-headed gentleman, who did not fit into our blue-collar neighborhood, but who was nonetheless our principal asked.  I tried but the blood was stuck to the shirt and I could not get it off.  The school nurse came in and managed to soak the shirt with a sponge enough to get it off.

“Dear, God.” They both said in unison looking at my scabbed and oozing back covered in welts.

I quickly made up a story that bullies in gym class had toweled me.  “Bastards!  Who? Which students?” the Principal demanded. And I knew he’d bought it.  A great liar was born.  Heck, I almost believed the tale myself.  When asked for names of the students who did this to me I refused.  I was no rat.

It shows the power of the fear of the unknown.  I’d chosen at that moment the knowing of my crazy family life over being put in a foster home.


All these memories of 40 some years ago shot through my mind as Dad’s spirit applied the magic healing gel to my back in LA some 45 years later here in 2011, the gateway to 2012.  The angelic blue balm I thought must have come from the blue ET angels I met in Italy as soaked deep into my psychic after-wounds.

Gaps in my energetic field began to close as my father kept working in the heavenly healing lotion.  I seldom saw my father cry in life except when he was drunk.  But I could tell even though my father was invisible to me for this work, from the tremble I felt through his coarse welder’s fingertips, that he was silently crying.  Crying out of shame for how deep the wounds he gave me were over all the pain he had caused for all of us with his drinking binges and rages.

My father’s spirit, now calm gentle and wise, here in my humble LA bedroom I rent with social media work, was personally healing these terrible old back wounds.  This is my greatest gift so far for the work of DreamShield.  And my father’s greatest gift for the bad karma he has undone for his next life or his ticket to be in heaven, reunited with Grandma.

DreamShield planetary meditation work is not easy, folks.  This spiritual work is new and uncertain for me and at times makes me feel like I am going insane.  It’s taken me from my filmmaking career and social media company BuzzBroz.  But I do it all gladly because I somehow know this is vital work for humankind and we will get it done with your help and millions upon millions more amazing people like you reading this painful blog post, the most painful I will ever write.

One by one we can heal and manifest a gentle 2012.  After this healing miracle of my back, this cynic is slowly becoming a believer.

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Abe Lincoln and Freedom… For Earth’s Addictions

They do not love that do not show their love.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, The Two Gentlemen of Verona

DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz

Angels, ET, my own overactive imagiantion, whatever it is that is  powering DreamShie, never stops working with me.  There’s not a lot of time to 2012, guess is why.  I could write entire blogs about any of the following, but here’s a quick summary of the after-visions from the 2.12.11 Healing of Earth’s Addiction meditation at Spirit Recovery Ranch.  Planetary meditation visions like Nashville’s don’t just happen all at once for me or the world.


The night after the big day of setting the intent to heal earth of addiction, Lee McCormick and I talked about going back to the medicine wheel to call in UFOs.  This was to be done by famed ET expert Renatto Longatto, whose presentation had added so much to this event Lee had fashioned around our DreamShield meditation.  But everyone, me included, was tired from the long day. So we decided the ETs could hover somewhere until we got back to them.

I chuckled as my head hit the pillow about how casual Lee was about seeing UFOs.  Most of the people on this trip had seen them many times.  No biggie for them.  For me I was mildly disappointed as I have never seen a UFO, except maybe one from a great distance when I was a kid in Wisconsin.  But I was too tired to care.


That night I dreamed of giant stone creatures guarding the land around Lee’s medicine wheel from hostile aliens that Renato had shared with us.  Real alien tales that inspired the movie PREDATOR.  The stone creatures were aided in my dream by none other than Jesse James, who looked just like Lee McCormick in the dream. Jesse actually had spent time on this ranch back in the day.  In my vivid dream Jess fired his guns with superhuman speed. Native Americans working with the cowboys and my Angus spirit to rid earth of addiction.  What a clean up crew from the 2.12.meditation!  The hostile aliens had no chance.  Zero.

ABE LINCOLN, MASTER PLANNER OF 2.12.11 Freedom from Addiction Meditation

Speaking of the 2.12.11 meditation, as I was putting this blog together and filling in my dream calendar DreamShield fan Margo gave me, I was shocked to discover February 12th is Lincoln’s birthday.  Huh.  So the freeing on earth from the slavery of addiction meditation was no accidental choice.  A date Lee McCormick and I worked out last fall.

Abe, I am proud to say as producer of web series called Lincoln is Back, is my spirit guide.  Sneaky, Abe, guided me to doing this DreamShield on his birth date without my even knowing it.  Best Lincoln’s birthday ever.  Couple this amazing fact with Lee’s medicine wheel that’s made of stones, I’d only learn after we were in Nashville, from a plantation where the owner used to buy slaves and set them free.  Yep,  you have more coincidences than even my cynical mind can ignore as proof that we are being aided by divine powers in this work to change the world come 2012.


I was too tired to care about ETs as I dreamed on because I was exhausted from the day long events and Lee’s sweat lodge session.  I had a vision in the heat where I saw myself move through the wall of the sweat lodge that followed the medicine wheel as a Native American hunter.  My Native American brother shushed me and tells me, “Be quiet my brother, you’ll scare off the deer.”  I come back to myself and realize I’ve been blabbing to much in the sweat lodge.

My inner Larry David had rebelled.  I couldn’t take Lee McCormick’s pouring on the heat anymore. Not to mention the cold mud under my freezing butt and feet caused by the melted snow and the tight quarters with a two guys flanking me weren’t for me either.  So I crawled, not on a dream with the Indians, but for real out of the sweat lodge with Lee’s blessing.  Lee’s a pro and never forces people to sweat anymore than they want.

I kept crawling from the sweat lodge, panting like a dog and dry heaved in the grass.  Then I saw a gray Buddha statue.  Alive beneath the moon.  When Sarah Wellborne poured Mt. Shasta water over my head, Buddha vanished.  Here’s a video of a very confused me at least searching for what might have been a pile of sticks I’d mistaken Buddha.


That night I also dreamed of my father, whose drinking issues had made the Nashville DNA meditation so tough for me and who had only passed three weeks ago, came to me in a dream showing me the Packer watch I had bought for him one Christmas.  Dad told me, pointing at the Packers watch, only mildly annoyed, “You were an hour late getting the medicine wheel. 2:12 you were supposed to he here.”

“Renato had gone long and the schedule got pushed back, ” I explained to my father in the dream.

“I kept the angels from leaving before you and Lee’s bunch for here, ” Dad proudly explained.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said tears welling. “I’m glad for your help.  Woulda been nice if this had been something we could have done while you were alive.”

“I needed to be part of this.  Always was somehow. But that’s no excuse for the mess I made of things when you guys were kids.”

“I forgive you, Dad.”

“I know, son.”

Dad then did something in the dream that he loved to do in real life and gave me a big bear hug.  At his funeral my son 3 weeks earlier, my son Jonathan, now a man of 30, gave me the Sheetz family bear hug.   Jonathan smiled sadly as he told me he had taken over the bear hug role from his grandfather.  Late or not, Dad was proud of me for the work at Lee’s medicine I see by his shinning Irish smile.

Dad, unable as usual not to have the last word and to joke said, “Try not to keep the angels waiting next planetary mediation, Kenny boy.”

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Personal Healing for Addiction Work in Nashville

“Self-Sabotage is when we say we want something and then go about making sure it doesn’t happen.” – Alyce P. Cornyn-Selby

DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz

Having conducted 26 official DreamShield planetary meditations and countless personal ones aimed at ushering in the gentle 2012, I thought this DreamShield about curing earth of addiction was going to be easy at Lee McCormick’s amazing Spirit Recovery Ranch.

After all we’d done meditations to shield earth from asteroids, holding the tectonic plates together, erased the dreaded BermudaTriangle and on glorious angel work on.  What is addiction compared to all that?  Answer: A LOT.

Addiction to oil is killing our world, creating wars.  Addiction to media and the cyber world is robbing us of our human connection.   Addiction money rips parents from their children.  Addiction to substance as Lee McCormick put it is the least of our many addiction problems here on earth.

Angel Guided Diagram to Cure Earth of Addiction by Ken Sheetz

This all got started when I awoke one morning with a vision November of 2010 of a black hole at the heart of all humanity, complete with a diagram on how to cure this addiction flaw to our DNA.  And I saw that Lee’s 2000 acre cattle ranch that doubles as one of America’s leading recovery centers with a staff of over 80 was perfect in every way.  After just one phone conference Lee accepted the challenge of this enormous vision to cure earth of addiction by 2012 with gusto and coolness.

Unfortunately, as the big addiction meditation approached… my father died.  I was thrown for a cosmic loop and lost touch with the angels in my cloud of gloom and pain.  You see, my dad was loving family man when sober but when he drank he turned him into a human wrecking ball for me and all around him.  In talks at Dad’s funeral with my second youngest brother, Dad’s favorite, who took more of the brunt as of dad’s black hole than me, my brother said, “Addiction can never be cured, Ken.  What your doing is nuts.”

Doubts began to fill me.  I shrunk backwards on my spiritual growth.  By the time I returned to LA from my Dad’s funeral and the Bermuda triangle meditation I was a spiritual basket case.

One day when my client and roomie Bradley Quick, who I had invited on the trip to Nashville, made an innocent, if fat-headed, remark about making up time away from his social media work for dad’s funeral I lashed out with a promise to vacate our working arrangements.  I went so far as to leave the call to Lee if he wanted Bradley to join us after all.  Lucky for me Lee is a pro with all the issues of not just addicts but their family members like me and he got things straight between Bradley and me with grace and respect.

How cool is Lee McCormick?  Here we are with Lee arriving at his Spirit Recovery Ranch on 2/11/11.  You’ll get it.

Fortunately also, Laura De Leon of Mystic Muse worked with me like I was a prize fighter, getting me back into spiritual shape for the big fight in Nashville.  And thanks to her work I eventually saw that I was projecting my own fears and doubts about this vital mediation onto Bradley.  Who is also an addiction pro when it comes to the kids of addicts like me and took my emotional roller coaster ride with gentle calm.

What finally got me ready for 2/12/11 was giving up on being strong about all this.  Surrendering, as they say in AA, to a higher power.  I was humbled before this mighty task.  After apologizing to the angels and Bradley, I told him Lee and Sarah and another Sarah joining our meditation team, Sarah Wellborn of Mt Shasta fame, that I needed all their love and support, as well as Laura’s and all our team around the world, to get through what was going to be my most difficult, and very personal, meditation for DreamShield.

The night before the event Bradley spoke to a group of recovery at Lee’s amazing Spirit Recovery Ranch.  I marveled as he touched their hearts.

How good was Bradley’s speech? In the Q&A a client asked him what was his proof that God exists.  Bradley did not even miss a beat as he told the client about his proof in God, or higher power is the perfectness of what is, which you can see in this video where Lee and Bradley interact.

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Soft Nashville Landing

Rachel & Robert

” A friend is someone who understand your past, believes in your future and accepts you just the way you are”- Unknown

DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz

When last I left you, dear reader, I had just been rescued from a blizzard at the Nashville airport by a friend of Dr. Sarah Larsen, Rachel Paul, a professional photographer and former college roomie.  Rachel is amazingly big-hearted, like many of the friends of Sarah’s I have been lucky to meet in this unexpected spiritual journey that grew out of my social media BuzzBroz work.

Rachel drove the 3 hour round trip through ice and snow that normally would have been half an hour without a single gripe.  At last we safely reached her lovely house, tucked deep in the woods of a secluded Nashville affluent area.  Her husband Robert, a gentle lion of a man, happily helped us carry our bags into the house as he welcomed us in.

A big fire Robert made for the impromptu event greeted us in the old hearth of this lively home of these two talented artists.  Old timbers and warm wood floors perfectly reflected the charm and Southern hospitality of this couple who made me feel instantly at home in the reflection of their love for Sarah.

Dr. Sarah Larsen at Spirit Lodge

Rachel and Robert made a tasty dinner for us from stuff we had picked up at the grocery store after the escape from the airport where others less fortunate we had met prepared for a night sleeping on airport chairs.  But the best part of dinner for ice cream lover Bradley Quick, my guest lecturer and supporter in this planetary meditation, was the three flavors of ice cream they set on the table for desert.

Bradley Quick lived up to his name and quickly called the couch.  So I ended up in a sleeping bag on the floor.  I was cold all night despite all the many blankets Rachel gave me, but my inner Larry David was silent for a change.

During the night many downloads, a term light workers use to describe the info that flows to us from who knows where, came to me like energetic snowflakes.  We were here after all for a DreamShield mediation I’d had in a vision 2 months ago to free the earth of addiction at Lee McCormick’s amazing Spirit Recovery Ranch. But I was nervous about this mediation.  Life with my dad as a kid had been plagued by his drinking and I was in short, no fun for anyone to be around, even the angels or ETs or wherever this data for DNA transformation was coming from.

The next day it was still so unusually cold for this part of America that the roads were still not safe to travel to Lee’s Ranch, 4o miles west of town.  But Rachel and Robert were happy to extend our visit and I was almost as happy as Sarah to be here.

As Sarah and Rachel whipped up an amazing breakfast while getting caught up on life, I caught myself laughing that the couch had turned out not to be so comfortable after all for the quick Mr. Quick.

BTW, here is Sarah and Bradley in a interview on where you can see the great healers in action.

Lee and Mee

That night Lee treated us all to an amazing concert with a collection of great artists led by Sean Gallaway, a pal of Sarah’s husband Greg at the lovely Bellcourt Theater to a packed enthusiastic crowd.   In the Bellcout lobby I at last met Mee Tracy, Lee’s amazing wife, has been a client of my social media company BuzzBroz for almost a year now but we’d never met until the concert.  I promote her amazing Princess Know it All YouTube channel that is over gotten of a quarter of a million views so far.  I am huge fan of Mee’s work, client or not.  A trained Hollywood actor, Mee’s videos carry a beautiful message of hope and health that rock.  Here’s a sample.

What I’d not expected is that Mee looks so much larger than life on film, as so many stars in Hollywood do!  I towered over her as we said hello for the first time in person.  It felt great to have Rachel and Robert join us as guests for the concert.

I enjoyed Sean Gallaway’s music with a message of change for 2012 and beyond.  One song hit all my buttons, The Real More.  It’s about people who get rich only to find they are unhappy and in search of the real meaning of life, which I have come to learn, at least for me as a guy who once built Oprah’s studios and was worth about 12 million bucks before hitting 40, is about giving to the world. Here’s a taste with an intro by the man himself, Lee McCormick.

After the concert we were treated to a party on Nashville’s Music Row at a new sober living house that Lee had just opened with his partner from England.  I was bushed and despite the lovely crowd I headed for the quiet peace of Rachel and Robert’s home.

Yep, I was still exhausted over the loss of my dad and the 3 nights of solo DreamShield meditations in the Bermuda Triangle.  I was nervous and unsure I’d be up for the important work.  Later, Sarah Wellborn from Mt. Shasta joined Sarah Larsen at Rachel and Robert’s.  I was not very good company after the big day and talked about perhaps taking a long break from DreamShield after Nashville.

My inner Larry David was kicking up again and all this good will and peace was giving me a headache.  Luckily for me everyone was having too much fun to pay much attention to my self doubts.

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