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.
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.
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.