If you’re any kind of a science reader you’re already familiar with the quantum theory that each time we make a decision a new universe branches off where both choices exist. This means there are an infinite number of universes; one where Rome never fell and one where you decided to be a concert pianist, another where you are a bookkeeper and so infinitely on.
Which us brings to my 3AM meditations tonight about my new theory of THE WHY OF MULTIVERSES. Meditations that rang true enough to stir me from bed to jot down a few thoughts that are the culmination of a lifetime of science fiction and science fact reading.
Meditation are showing me repeatedly that through the vastness of time and space, hidden within dark matter, there exists an underlying living universal code. This living source code, which I see and draw as best I can at times, is far more advanced than any code we create for our virtual reality gaming. It acts as space faring cosmic seed to foster sentient life on distant worlds across the universe.
Distant, highly advanced from galaxies far older than our own use this code seed as a way to travel and experience to other worlds via bio-virtual reality. All living matter that evolve from the seed of consciousness contain DNA receptors that allow distant ET travelers to tune in on and enjoy.
From my new film THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS
Once life on a world reaches a certain level the new organic life serve as bio-virtually reality hosts, the ET traveler’s tune into to explore the multiverse universe.
Before you freak out the original universe is sacredly private and our own. But the multiverse has been created and is where these god-like beings are allowed to live lives any life the seed generated. The short life spans of all creatures on our world enable faster soul evolution, the ultimate purpose of this highly advanced form of bio-virtual reality. Multiverse visits as mortal can vary in length from seconds to millenniums and be experienced as individuals or as the glow of life force of an entire world.
Worlds that generate bio-virtual reality, and there are many besides earth that reside in the Goldilocks zones of countless stars. In past blogs I’ve described this as THE LEAGUE OF GHOST WORLDS as they are copies of the original worlds expressing themselves as a network of bio-virtual realities.
Multiverse visits are “paid” for by a universal karma system. Ever wonder why some people are so lucky in life to be born a royal, super scientist or movie star? Simple. That’s the A ticket to Earth’s bio VR multiverses. The stars literally align to experience magical living once an advance being has accumulated enough karma points.
Far out and all unprovable. Well, in any case all this is multiverse noodling is good fodder for my screenplay I am working on called MEANWHILE, ONE TIMELINE AWAY that I am developing in plain sight on Facebook. Follow me there and drop by our website CoolestTechEver.com where we are presenting some the most exciting technology for aiding human ascension on the planet.
A lot of people in the Shift movement are hoping for a rescue from above. Help from advanced ET star people who love us and won’t let us destroy ourselves and the earth.
But what if that ET rescue already happened in 1962, at the height of the Cuban Missile Crisis, when America and Russia teetered on the brink of all out World War 3? In my DreamShield meditations, this is exactly the message I am getting.
In 1962 all humans were taken off the world just before we launched the missiles of October. Since 1962, my guides say, humanity has been safely tucked away in “Matrix”- like chambers aboard a giant Meta-ship. In this virtual reality humankind has time to evolve to a point where it’s safe to for us to be returned to our fragile world. Think of a Gaia as mother sending her kids off to boarding school while she has time to heal.
In this benign version of the “Matrix”, we all live in a vast simulations where we will get to see the nightmarish outcome of how badly we care for our world. This explains much of the quantum physics of the multiverses each time we make any decision. In reality my guides say there is only one real universe.
Our protectors will keep us safely tucked in this living simulation, that can welcome new souls, until we figure out ourselves and can live peacefully.
Now you may say, “How sweet of the ETs to do this for us!” And it is sweet. But also keep in mind this virtual world is a quarantine that keeps us from spreading into space and killing other worlds until we’ve evolved past this danger to ourselves and the universe.
It’s 2014. I’m meditating in my new home in Sedona, trying to make contact with my 1991 self.
I see myself at age 39, working late in my offices at 303 West Madison in downtown Chicago, on the 19th floor. The staff has gone home. I’m still grinding—working harder and longer than everyone else, as usual.
It’s January 4, 1991. Snow drifts past the big dual-pane office windows.
On my desk is an invitation to a late New Year’s Eve office party a competitor is throwing in the East Loop. I’m debating whether to go. Parties weren’t my thing in 1991—and they aren’t now. My brain hurts at parties. I’m a one-on-one person.
Across the street looms the under-construction skyscraper I’m the managing partner of: One North Franklin. I’m tense as hell. The curtain wall—the skin of the building—is badly behind schedule. If the project is late, I stand to lose $8 million in guarantees.
So 1991 me paces the office like a caged animal.
Back in 2014, I’m thrilled to discover this time-machine compartment of my brain—one that’s always been there, waiting for me to open the hatch and fire it up. I can easily read my 1991 mind:
Dammit. Is the GC still working? Should I chew his ass out now for screwing up my building—or wait until Monday?
It’s worth noting: I’d been having conversations like this with myself long before my spiritual awakening in 2010—before Italy, before the ET-angel encounters, before the meditation work that eventually took me to Antarctica. (If you want the wider arc of that journey, it lives over on DreamShieldPlanetaryMeditations.com.)
So answering myself now feels oddly natural.
“It won’t matter,” I say to my 1991 self. “Nothing you do is going to save this project. Go home to your wife and kids.”
1991 Ken stops dead mid-pace.
“Where did that voice come from?”
He hurries to the door and peers into the empty hallway.
“I’m in your head,” I say.
“Gloria said I was working too hard and would go nuts.”
“Your wife is right about the working too hard part,” I reply. “But you’re not going nuts.”
A phone call from a client snaps the connection. An hour later, I’m back—this time riding along in his emerald-green Jaguar as he drives home to Lake Forest.
“I’m back,” I say—nearly causing him to swerve off the Kennedy Expressway.
“Who are you—and how are you inside my head?”
“Who do I sound like?”
“Dad?” he asks, uneasy.
“Way off. I’m you—Ken Sheetz, 23 years in the future.”
He laughs nervously. “Time-traveling from the future? Prove it. Tell me something no one else could possibly know.”
I don’t hesitate.
“You and Gloria had a terrible fight on your honeymoon night when she didn’t want sex.”
He goes quiet.
“Jesus. You are me. Or I’m losing my mind.”
“I can prove it another way. Tomorrow—January 5, 1991—the Redskins beat the Eagles 20–6. The final score comes from a third-quarter field goal. Randall Cunningham throws for exactly 205 yards.”
“What’s Google?” he asks.
“A company that will become the source of almost all human knowledge.”
He shakes his head. “If that game happens exactly like you say, I’ll believe you.”
“It’s as real as that Jaguar you won’t be driving much longer.”
“What—am I going to crash tonight?”
“Worse. You’re heading for a complete financial meltdown. In a year, you’ll be returning that Jaguar on foot.”
The unraveling comes fast. Commercial loan failures. Banks seizing properties. By 1994, nearly every Loop building goes back to lenders. One North Franklin becomes the poster child. Barclays Bank loses $80 million—and makes an example of you.
“You’ll survive,” I tell him. “But not as the man you are now.”
By 1992, I’m broke. By 1995, I’m making films. By 2002, I’m in Hollywood. The money sucks—but I’m happier than I’ve ever been. (That pivot—and everything after it—connects to the broader body of work at OveractiveImaginationPictures.com.)
Gloria leaves when the money disappears. The divorce is brutal. The kids are hurt badly. One nearly doesn’t survive their teenage years.
“This isn’t a warning,” I finally tell him. “It’s a gift.”
I urge therapy. Anger work. Gentleness. Putting family first. Leaving the skyscraper deal early. Taking cash—any cash. Starting a small corporate film company. Naming it BuzzBroz.
I tell him the truth I never wanted to face:
The wealth was a trap.
The rage was inherited.
The collapse was the opening.
He tries to fight it. Of course he does. 1991 Ken is ruthless—Chicago real estate tough. A man built out of pressure, swagger, fear, and a need to prove something to a drill-sergeant father who never offered the kind of love you can actually stand on.
And then 1991 Ken—my 1991 Ken—does something surprising: he gets creative.
“What if I change the past,” he says, “and a new future splits off? No paradox. You’re just one version of my 2014 possible selves.”
“That’s actually quite possible,” I say. “A 21st-century theory called multiverses.”
As he pulls into the driveway of my Lake Forest mansion, I push one last time—faster, like the signal is fading.
“Be kinder to Gloria. Get out of the deal before spring. Take whatever you can get. Cash in the bank is king. Don’t wait for pride to do your accounting.”
“And therapy,” I add. “I mean real therapy. I didn’t do it until after the divorce, when I almost killed myself from suicidal depression.”
“Christ,” he says. “This gets grim.”
“Yes,” I say. “But you’re made of indestructible stuff. The question is whether your wife and kids have to pay the price for your anger.”
There are entire libraries on what trauma does to families—and how anger gets handed down like a cursed heirloom. If you want a grounded, mainstream overview of how therapy helps people rewire emotional patterns, the American Psychological Association’s psychotherapy resources are a solid place to start.
He threatens to bet big on the Redskins. He threatens to invent time travel and beat my ass. We laugh—tearfully—because even at my most intense, the heart was still there.
Then he opens the front door.
Gloria and our two kids—Jon and Janelle, ages 12 and 9—run to greet him with hugs and kisses.
And in that instant, both versions of me know:
It’s not too late.
I end the meditation in tears.
This really happened(s). This is not fiction.
I save(d) a family. My own.
And I still had time for my daily meditation hike in Sedona. If you’re into meditation as a practical tool—not as a personality—some of my calmer work lives at CoolestMeditationEver.com, and my civic sanity project lives at PoliticalCoolDown.com.
“In the Golden Age it is time embrace paradox!” – Stephanie Sutton, PhiSciences.com
By Ken Sheetz
Click the pic for Stephanie Sutton’s talk of Mayan mysteries on THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS
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 Pica from Topeka” angel channel Mica Monet
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.
Click the pic to see Patrick and Stephanie accelerate the Shift on THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS
“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.
Divine healer Mica Monet of Sedona. 5 star healing. Book a session 928-212-4411, say Ken Sheetz sent you.
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.
Tin Man, AKA Pepe le Sheetz
“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?”
As A note to my father who died in 2011: Dear Drill Sarge Dad, I forgive you, Pops, for your US Army basic training parent skills. You never had a dad in your life to show you better. What I don’t forgive is your dark twin within’s drunken bipolar bone breaking, flesh ripping, mind fucking child abuse. I prefer to remember your good twin within, your Dr, Jekell, who I still love, the one who taught me to draw, fish, hunt and play piano. I forgive for you, good twin within my father, for letting your dark Mr. Hyde try to murder me and the rest of the family and burning resentment in the core of my being. A resentment I still hope to free myself of in this life. Your dark twin’s abuse does not belong to me. I give it back to you with interest penalties to deal with in the afterlife. Your loving son, 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.
Read my next blog where I dig deep into the past as Mica Monet suggested on The Grand Trine in THE ONCE AND FUTURE KEN SHEETZ.
Media, Meditations & Musings 