What Not to Do on The Most F*cked Up Memorial Day Weekend Ever

OK. Admit it. I mean, seriously, isn’t 2020 the biggest shit show of our lives? And that, my dear friends, makes this Memorial Day weekend the most f’cked up ever.

I’ve only watched 20 minutes of news all week and what I saw were mass graves in Brazil where the Coronavirus is decimating an impoverished society, Secretary of Sate Pompeo having Trump fire the Inspector General, 4th one fired in six months, whose only crime was preparing to report that Popemo the Pompus is illegally using taxpayer money to garner campaign donations while using an assistant to walk a dog, Trump touring a Michigan mask factory not wearing a mask, a mask wearing Costco employee tossing a “free man” from the store for not wearing a mask, Trump proclaiming more deaths is good thing because America has more virus cases and deaths because we do more testing (another lie), two dams bursting in Michigan and flooding locked down residents from their homes, and a few more horrible things my slashed and burned mind cannot process right now.

Wow. Maybe I need to reduce my news intake to 5 minutes a week? Geez, even my yogini wife Elizabeth was in bad mood for a day this week. That’s my job!

Hmm. I sound negative. But these are depressing times. Accept reality. Here’s a positive offering that’s great for meditating away the negativity.

 

So, if you are with me in boycotting the Jordan ego-fest this weekend, what should we not do on f*cked up Memorial Day weekend ever? That is besides not watch the depressing and divisive as hell news? A weekend while half us in America are playing it safe at home while the other half are crowding beaches, restaurants, parks and you name it to build towards wave 2 by choosing to believe the lies they want to hear from our mask-less leader?

Well, I’ll play contrarian and suggest you join me in NOT watching THE LAST DANCE on Netflix. At least not all time wasting 6 hours on it. Why? Because at the end of the day it’s success worship and a ginormous celebration of EGO.

Now, in fairness who can blame Micheal Jordan for having a bloated ego? The guy is a basically a modern day winged god compared to the rest of us flatfooted normies. The fame and endless butt kissing went to his basketball addled head.

Yikes. This ego-tripping life couch surfing docu-sports show brings back so many memories for me from the same time period where I too was treated like a god, a real estate one, while I was building a $162 million skyscraper and Oprah’s Harpo Studios. Shit. People waited for me to pass through a doorway first if we were in a group. My ego inflated too. I lost touch with reality like Mike. Losing it all in 1991-92 real estate crash where I lost it all, marriage included as unfamiliar failure was like acid in coursing my veins turning me into a wounded bear, was the best thing that ever happened to chop my YUGE ego down to size.

Here’s THE LAST DANCE trailer. Note Jordan’s bitterness that the team wanted build for the next generation of players, rather than give Jordan a shot at a sixth straight championship. His words, “We’re entitled to the fame we have until we lose it.” That’s ego talking, folks, and that’s the movie.

 

So what should we the one’s playing it safe, for ourselves, for the sake of the weak and less fortunate, do this weekend from hell?

1. Accept a virus has kicked America and the planet’s asses. We may be down. But we won’t stay there. But we’ll never grow from all this if we exist is fantasy world of ego.

2. Do something that’s yours. Write, paint, give each other a massages, sing karaoke, sculpt, cook, garden, etc. Just make it your own and don’t worry about making a viral video out of what you do. This is for you.

3. Be grateful you are still f*cking alive! This despite the fact we’ve been terribly on our own up to now and will be for the duration of this nightmare.

4. Love your mate, your kids, your dog, your cat, your cousins, your zoom pals and above all love yourself.

5. Tell ego-driven stars of biz, sports, film and politics like Musk, Trump and Pompeo. “I have my own life and you, Mr. or Ms. Bigshot, have zilch to do with it.”

And if you’ve completed all of the above and you do watch the Jordan piece, and I might too a little, witness the sobering progression of Michael devolving from a regular basketball player into a pampered ball-hogging self-centered egotist.

THE RICH AS VICTIMS

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

By Ken Sheetz

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

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

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

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

Me far right in 1991 with Oprah
Me far right in 1991 with Oprah

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother’s Day-Dream: Oprah Hosts DreamShield 2012 Mega Event

A suburban mother’s role is to deliver children obstetrically once, and by car forever after.  ~Peter De Vries

DreamBlogger – Ken Sheetz

Yep.  That’s is me at age 6, your faithful DreamShield reporter of the unseen work of 2012, there on the far right with my brother, Fred, and lovely mother, Georgiana.

My father, who took the picture, demonstrates a keen eye for composition.  Now, I see where I got that from. So many gifts from our parents we sometimes lose sight of.  But the more I heal for the work of a gentle 2012, the more good I can see in my folks.

I have two kids of my own from a great mother named Gloria.  Gloria and I divorced in 1992 and have lost touch since our two wonderful kids, Jonathan and Janelle, grew up.  I wish Gloria well on this Mother’s Day 2011, at the Lull before 2012, when many of us light workers seem to be enjoying the simpler things in life.

My busy mind fluttered with the above as my roomie Bradley Quick stomped around on the big apartment here at The Cool Change Foundation most of the night it seemed and then solid from 6:30 AM to 7:30 Am, before he finally went to his club for a workout.

Sometimes I wonder if the energetic radio talk show host – I had to buy a sound soother to finally get some rest! – ever sleeps more than an hour or two like Edison was famed for.  I move out in 10 days of Bradley’s modest yet spacious NoHo studios, tucked in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood where Mexcian folk music blends with the sounds of the many dogs.  A place, where despite all the noise, I’ve produced over 100 videos with over half a million views for his charity that help people battle substance abuse and made over 200 videos for DreamShield on YouTube.

But before I make an apartment hunt for a new LA base, I travel back home for a month to scatter my father’s ashes, rest, see my kids and hopefully raise some cash to continue the work of DreamShield via a documentary and reestablish the single occupant life style the recession cost me fall of 2009.  And I am sure a meditation or two will take place while I am there as well.

This blog is dedicated to Laura and Bob's wonderful Mama Jenkis who just passed away in March of this year.

Once Bradley Quick finally stomped his way out the apartment, hard not to stomp with a floor that resonates like drum and creaks like the deck of a ship, I turned my sound soother to meditation music and lit a beautiful Virgin Mary candle Laura De Leon gave me as gift for dog-sitting her little Bella last week.

GOLDEN OPRAH-TUNITY

I was powered up instantly in this meditation, stronger and faster I realized than Superman, my childhood hero.  My astral super-Ken-self sat up on the edge of the bed and I began to spin at super speed.  In an instant I tore a shaft through earth’s crust until I reached a vast cavern miles beneath the city of angels.

The cave was all lit up, like a golden sunrise.  I flew a short distance beneath the stalactites and saw a giant golden pyramid.  My higher self knew, “The golden mother of all pyramids. Command center for the work of a gentle 2012.”

I landed gracefully at the base of the golden pyramid, but saw no entrance. I completed a super speed scan of the entire perimeter in vain.  But somehow I knew all I had to do was have faith in order to enter.  I took a deep breath and stepped right through the golden outer wall of the pyramid and found myself in a long upward slopping great hall.

The walls of the hall were adorned with oil paintings portraying great women of the world. Mothers of both the body and soul of humanity, from the supposed ordinary homemaker to the most famous like Oprah.

I soon reached the center in the pyramid. A huge studio audience of angels, aliens and humans burst into cheers and applause upon my arrival.  A beautiful tech-angel took me by the arm past the stage, where Oprah entertained the crowd.

Oprah, client of mine from my hay days as a Chicago real estate developer, when I built her Harpo Studios, gave me a wave and a friendly shout, “Hey, Ken!  Make it great!”

I waved back and pretended to know what Oprah meant by “Make it great!” The angel-tech chuckled at my confusion as she opened a door revealing dazzling golden control room.

Monitors buzzed with live feeds from every sacred site on earth.  Stonehenge, the pyramids of Giza, the Parthenon in Greece, a new white city of lights in Nashville, St. Peter’s square in Rome, the plains of Africa, Mexico, Washington DC, Hollywood… All was on gorgeous 3D display!

The angel-tech pointed to her watch and smiled,  “Live in 60 seconds, Mr. Sheetz.”

I nervously put on a mic headset.  I was narrator for Oprah’s big show but I had no script. The “on the air” light blinked and I gulped.  But the words flowed like I’d rehearsed the intro for years:

“You’re watching Oprah’s DreamShield special!  Live from all the Earth’s 24 hours time zones, it’s the dawn of the golden age!  Estimates of over 2 billion people are tuned in, all to meditate on a gentle 2012 as one.  We welcome all peaceful beings from all the worlds across the universe who have loved and watched over our tiny blue world for eons.  A world that now celebrates humanity’s full admittance as a sovereign member of the Galactic Society. Over to you, Oprah.”

Then Bradley was back from the club and I was back in the tiny room that had been my home for a year and raring to get moving onto the work of gentle 2012.  My trip home on May 18th was going to be a huge success.  Of this I was sure.
Enjoying these amazing spiritual adventures? Please donate at DreamShield.org to help us battle 2012 fears and usher in a gentle tomorrow.