The blue whales first began connecting to me in 2011, shortly after my awakening in Italy, as I flew out of LA to do meditations in Nashville to end addiction on earth. So I guess it came as no surprise to me that in the visitations I have enjoyed so deeply with the spirit of Robin Williams, or at least as I imagine him to be, that he would tell me a few months after his passing that he has chosen to reincarnate as a blue whale.
One morning here in Sedona in 2014, Robin’s sweet ghost, after he had made me play tour guide to his ghost pals Mother Teresa and MLK, explained to me passionately, in that amazing voice of his, “Kenster, I wanted you to hop a ship of the coast of LA and channel me in.”
“Why? I asked in. Or maybe it was more like, “Huh?”
Long story short I said no to Robin. I was too busy launching the NEO Neurophone project. Yeah, I can be slow accepting these spirit visitations.
But I am finally taking time starting tomorrow to go to the ocean and escape the desert of Sedona for a while. Robin’s spirit forgave me and still visits, even though he is about one years old as a blue whale now.
As the former stone-cold real estate mogul I once was making millions I asked myself, “Is visiting a ghost in the ocean a tax deductible thing?” Then realized who cares?
And as I write this post that I hope blows the doors off your mind, I see for the first time the blue whales powerful connection to freeing earth from addiction and so much more!
During the NEO Neurophone Indiegogo of 2014-2015 I fell horribly out of balance as I strove to help awaken a planet to techno-meditation. Good news I raised over $1.6 million for Dr. Patrick Flanagan’s amazing new brain device. Bad news I had not taken more than a handful of days off in 12 months of 15 hour work days.
Healing the earth begins within, especially for planetary healers. But I had gained 40 pounds as a lump in front of a computer screen, becoming systemically inflamed, my body still recovering from 2013 black mold infection that nearly killed me and ended my hiking in the hiking capital of the world, Sedona.
In May of 2015, NEO inventor Patrick Flanagan took a terrible fall down a stairs. The great scientist lay in a coma for two weeks. Miraculously, he awoke from coma a few days before his own NEO release party with over 100 guests all getting his new device, an update of many earlier versions of the Neurophone dating back to 1958. But the hospital would not let Pat out to play at his own party. I ended up last minute as the host when his wife Stephanie got the idea to Skype Pat into the party.
What a moment when the doctor appeared on screen at the July NEO release party. Watch and keep reading after the jump!
Happily, Pat’s recovered fully here in 2016 and is enjoying life in Ecuador with his Stephanie. But in October of 2015, we sold out the last of 5,000 NEOs the Indiegogo campaign had ushered into the world and Pat asked me to end the Indiegogo as he was not yet up for another intense round of NEO work yet.
I had never pictured this suspension of a hit Indiegogo that had gotten worldwide media attention and raised $1.6 million. So when I pulled the plug I was at loss. And for the first time in a year I looked at how out of balance my life had become and how horribly my health had suffered. I had zero social life unless you count: Pilates, going alone to movies and overeating in restaurants.
Patrick had been so vital before the accident that filming him for the hit web series THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS and THE NEUROPHONE EXPERIENCE had taken over my life. I’d pushed all my own film projects aside. After all, how often does one get to film a scientist that’s a cross between Einstein and the Dalai Lama?
WHAT’ NEXT AFTER HIT NEO?
I spent time meditating on what I should do next. I had a few months cushion with the success of the NEO to not take on new social media work. My spirit guide Ohom had answers, “Let go any resentments you are feeling about the halt of the NEO project. Pat will resume when he is fully well and ready. It’s time to finish the work you began in 2012. make your 24 meditations in one film to help awaken the planet.”
Robin Williams chimed in too, “And get yourself back on a healthy diet and exercise plan. I’m the one whose living life as whale now, not you, Blubber boy!” See my blog series here on Robin to understand the whale joke.
And so I went to work on the movie in October 2015, ignoring Robin’s advice. I worked so hard on the movie I wore right through my editing chair. As I finished the film’s first cut in early November I had damaged my butt muscle and could barley walk. Yes, a year of the NEO Indie and months of 18 hour days on editing THE COOLEST MEDITATION EVER: ANTARCTICA 12.12.12 had left me crippled from overwork, bad food and lack of exercise.
Spirit guide Ohom warned me in November after the film was done, “Seek balance, Ken. Get in shape or you will die in March of 2016.”
The next day after Ohom’s warning I decided to accept an invitation to LA to my friend Ed Asner’s 86th birthday party. I stayed at a lovely new friend, Sima Morrison’s, sweet guest house. She and her husband became my first test audience for my Antarctica film as we watched on their big screen. Both loved the film and we were blown away by how their house’s decor mirrored many of the themes in my documentary.
My friend Tanya was my guest at the party for Ed. I could tell Ed was surprised and touched that I had made the trip to LA to honor his 86th. His party benefited the Skylight Theater.
The next night I ended up having dinner with a lovely singer I’d met on the flight in from Phoenix. We went out to karaoke after and were joined by Sarah and Greg Larsen. We partied late, closing the karaoke joint down.
Next day I hung out with Sima in Venice Beach. Sima runs a great conscious website, House of Citrine and it was wonderful getting to know her better. I expect great things from she and her husband Brett, now head of IT for Space-X. As we headed back to the house Sima invited me to stay on another extra night, instead of flying out that afternoon back to Sedona. Tired from the big Karoke night I said I’d think about the kind offer. Nothing except the next round of editing the Antarctica film was calling me back, but I was anxious to keep editing on.
Later that afternoon Elizabeth England contacted me, sorry she had missed my karaoke FB general invite to LA friends. She asked if I wanted to get together for dinner that night. I said I was too tired for dinner, but that Sima had offered me to stay over so how about breakfast next day before I headed home? Elizabeth seemed disappointed I was not up for dinner but accepted my invite to breakfast next day.
Breakfast was at Cafe Gratitude. As soon as she looked deep into my eyes I could see Elizabeth had a lot on her mind so I texted Sima not join us as originally planned. Elizabeth was frustrated with how her social media career was going. Nothing was jelling in a way that Elizabeth was enjoying. She asked if I would teach her effective crowd funding and I invited her to consider working with me on my next crowd funder to raise distribution for my film releasing 6.16.16. Elizabeth exclaimed, “June 16th is my birthday. And, yes, I’d love to help and learn.”
I sensed something deeper than work in Elizabeth’s interest in me and I ventured, “Hey. My LA friends Ellen and Brian are coming to Sedona for Thanksgiving in a few weeks. I am a lousy cook. I have a guest room and I’d love to show you the town. Want to come and save me from ruining Thanksgiving with my bachelor cooking skills? ”
Now, I’d been asking Elizabeth every so often to come to Sedona for 2 years at this point and each time she’d politely decline, but this time she enthusiastically said “Yes!”
BALANCE COMES TO SEDONA
Two weeks later Elizabeth hitched a ride to Sedona with two of her friends. And from the moment she arrived in Sedona she was welcomed by the spirits, the red rocks and people. Despite my injuries from being glued to a desk chair for 18 months, I kept my word and showed Elizabeth the hiking trials, where coyotes answered her cries, and her past life as a Hopi names Red Deer, with me as her beloved Laughing Skies, returned to her on a moonlit desert hike.
At Thanksgiving Elizabeth was more amazing a cook than I could have imagined, having worked with Martha Stewart in the 80s. Elizabeth quickly bonded with Brian and Ellen and their Kendra. Ellen was suspicious love was afoot.
We were joined at the Thanksgiving feast by Elizabeth’s two friends Julian and Astara, plus another couple. It was divine and my most balanced holiday in ages.
Since Thanksgiving 2015, Elizabeth and I have been together except for a 10-day break for her to pack up her LA life, happily returned to me by Sima. Elizabeth;s great planetary healing work on Ocean Nation compliments my own. She’s a whiz on the web and Excel spreadsheet in ways I am not. So work gets done faster and this makes more time for fun and healthy activities.
Elizabeth is 17 year vet of the military and in phenomenal shape. She’s gotten me into Yoga for the first time. So far I’ve lost 30 pounds of the 40 I packed on since confining myself to a chair.
What can I say except, “Thanks, Ohom!” After all, he suggested Elizabeth would be my perfect mate back in 2012. And it took a few years to manifest but the love and life Elizabeth and now share day and night is bliss. Hmm. Maybe Ohom should start an ‘ET Match Making’ service with the whale reincarnation of Robin Williams offering blubbery motivation.
Please visit my new crowd funder for the 24 sacred mediations I performed with good humor in Antarctica DO PENGUINS MEDITATE is tax deductible for your contributions thanks to Elizabeth’s introduction of my film to her client From the Heart productions.
LOL. Now, there’s a headline you won’t read in your Trump obsessed newspaper today. Lucky you that you found this blog to get the up to date news of the planetary healing work of the DreamShield, home of the Coolest Meditation Ever.
Even if these vision are only my amazing dream life they represent an exciting peace and vitality of my inner state I’ve never enjoyed as the child of a dangerous and unpredictable father and a depressed absent mother. I am happy to share these dreams of planetary healing with you, real or unreal.
I dedicate this important chapter in my DreamShield blog to my dear friends and a super backers Patrick Flanagan and Sephanie Sutton. Since 2012, when they helped me reach Antarctica for 24 planetary meditations, soon to be an Amazon DVD, I have been honored to serve as part of their PhiSciences.com team. Bringing their message of hope to the world with their NEO frequency is a great honor. You can see 30 months of my exclusive Flanangan content at VIMEO.
3AM last night, after a routine trip to the bathroom, I am met by the unusually quiet spirit of Robin Williams, now a 2 month old whale calf nursing on his Mamu off the west coast of Mexico. Robin is blogged about often here since his death in 2014 if you want to catch up. Telepathically, without words, Robin asks I begin a planetary meditation along with he and every blue whale of planet earth.
Robin’s ebullient spirit, without all the sometimes trying hyperness, peacefully tells me without words to start this important and unexpected session by blocking all cellular, radio signals, TV, wifi, and any man-made electronic energy across the face of the earth and from space.
I gladly agree and sit upon the side of my comfy Sedona bed. I begin, as always, calling down the energy of the stars and calling up the energy of the earth’s core.
I make an energy hologram of the earth between my hands and begin. Quick circular gestures, with my arms and hands extended, I call down the power Dreamshield, which I’ve seen encircling our world since 2010. With a simple thought command, such has become my mastery with the help of the ETs I connect to in meditationled by the sweet Ohom. It’s done. All man-made signals from space are instantly blocked from raining down on the face of the earth. Gaia sighs at the break.
Now the earthbound com towers must be taken off-line one by one, and problem is there are billions of them across the planet polluting our world on DNA level. My body sags in exhaustion at this huge takes and I lay down in bed for this next stage of planetary healing. I am down but not beaten. Time to add dream power to the conscious visualizations.
I find myself flying at super speed to save a little girl trapped by life inside computers and cell phones at the base of radio tower. I whisk her off the Slide Rock park for some physical fun where I filmed families free of cellular signals yesterday.
STORY CONTINUES BELOW THE VIDEO:)
The little girl saved represents all humanity and from a viewpoint high above the earth as I happily see every form of electronic pollution has been surrounded by the gold streak of my creating square force fields around each one.
Floating above an earth, blissfully free of all electronic chatter, I hear the call of all of earth’s blue whales led in a frequency song by a 2 month old whale calf named Nanu, Robin’s new life. I’m so proud of my spirit friend Robin. He’s done it. Starting this work so young for a world so in need of the peace it brings. Telepathically Robin calls me down and asks me without words to integrate and weave this signal into the very fabric of the earth’s crust.
I do the world’s highest high dive from the DreamShield, just above earth’s atmosphere. I keep my form perfect so I do not set off a tidal wave. I find myself nose to nose with the whale calf Robin Williams deep beneath the Pacific off the coast of Mexcio. He is so happy to see me, love in his blue whale eyes.
And off I fly underwater, gathering frequency at super speed. Soon the coast of China approaches and I shift into being able to pass through matter, a trick I picked up from the ETs when I was rescued from an abusive father and rebuilt many a night as a child aboard their mother ship.
Rock, earth, water and stone whiz past my super eyes as I blaze across the earth’s crust of China in a nanosecond. I exit mother earth’s crust off the cost of England. I am cheered on telepathically by more blue whales of the Atlantic. I blast into the rock and earth of the USA, an unstoppable force for positive change.
My POV is from space again. I see my super trail of golden light zip across every square inch of land and sea. Earth’s crust is now glows blanketed in the new golden frequency of joy that has always been Robin’s gift to us. But now the Williams’ gift is free of the addictions and small minded hanger-ons that kept his vibe down.
All the blue whales, the largest creatures earth has ever know, which grow to 100 feet long, who patrol every ocean on earth, sing Nanu’s song of change for a happier planet. The bliss of it all this is indescribable.
I find myself standing in a cleared field talking to a wealthy land owner in Argentina, named Ricardo. He tells me sadly that so many people have been so deeply damaged by the electronic pollution of our airwaves that he has donated his million acres to the ET doctors. He proudly shows me a gigantic invisble secret ET hospital hidden the jungle that will now be used to heal our people and animals in shifts.
Ricardo shows me a map of the earth, each divided into golden one million acres squares. Each night Ricardo proudly explains all the earth’s people and animals will come to the ET hospital, square by square, until all the people and creatures of the earth and sea are healed. I hug this once greedy man, an Illuminati who has come to the light, and bidding Ricardo farewell I rocket for home. My work of the night done. An amazing night I’d not expected until 2016 Robin’s whale calf self was one year old. Robin tells me to rest up the frequency work goes on to 8.18.18 when we will see great acceleration in the shift.
I make a mental note as I zoom for Chicago, my home for 25 years where I built a skyscraper and Oprah’s studios, to make some whale videos and record the song in the real world for my YouTube.com/buzzbroz and dreamshield channels.
My dream super self lands in the skyscraper I lived in on the banks of the Chicago river. This part of this world changing dream mirrors my re-connection with lost family that is still unfolding all of its own wonderful accord. A private affair they ask I not report on. But the skyscraper has fallen apart in my 12 year absence. I raise my hand over the crumbling skyscraper and it begins to rebuild itself. Tired, I stop when the rebuilding is safe enough to sleep in. I walk the halls and wakened neighbors are amazed the decay on the walls disappears as I pass them to find my apartment, suite 1710.
No longer having a key for #1710, and hoping it’s vacant, I pass through the door like a ghost. Not only is my old home vacant, it’s full of dust and rotting furniture. My energy from all this epic night of planetary healing is low but I have just enough power left to restore my Chicago bed, a place of wonderful sexual exploration in my 40s. I tuck myself into bed and gaze out at the dazzling skyscrapers of Chicago. The energy work of the break from electronic pollution done, I realize it’s all happened so fast no one will have noticed tomorrow. As usual my work with the DreamShield is left with no clues in the real world. I close my eyes and go to dreamless sleep in Chicago.
Gaia appears to me as a mermaid with a see-through orange gown. Her arms outstretched for embrace wakes me refreshed and renewed in Sedona. Yeah, the work of planetary meditations to help Gaia save her children has an amazing benefits package.
Blue whale that is! Last night I go to see THE WALK. As I pull into the Harken’s Theater parking lot the familiar voice of Robin Williams beams in from somewhere off the coast of Northern Mexico, as I researched on Google today, “Pod greetings, Ken Sheetz.”
“Nanu, Nanu, Robin. How’s life as a two month blue whale calf?” I ask in my mind, even though I am alone in my Jeep as could speak out loud, I prefer speaking telepathically with Robin. Helps me hear him in my mind’s ear more clearly.
“Whoa! I’ve packed on a lot of weight since I was born. Mamu is eating for two,” says Robin.
“Yeah, did some research on arkive.org to understand what you are going through. You were born 3 tons. Feeding on Mamu’s milk will go on for a full year. You’re gaining about 200 pounds and growing 1.5 inches per day,” I say, proud of my research.
“1.5 inches a day. I’m a whale boner. 200 pounds, cool, that’s how much I weighed when I was off the wagon as a human. You’re becoming a whale of nerd Sheetzy!” Says Robin brightly in my mind’s ear. So clear is Robin’s familiar voice that my old fears of being craked in the head break the surface like a whale’s spout.
Connected to me without words, we do that for fun and so readers can follow, Robin says using his excellent John Wayne voice, “Ken, buddy, ya ever going to realize you’re not nuts and that our talks are real, pilgrim?”
“I don’t think belief is ever going to be a 100% thing with me, Robin. All my spirits visitors and guides must put up with the way I stay feeling somewhat sane using a degree of healthy doubt as my anchor,” I say.
“Whatever floats your boat, Sheetzo. Just keep my whale of a tale going on your blog. Some of my fans believe I made the hyper space jump to whale life to bring in this groovy new frequency that’s going to change the world. Need to keep their hopes up, me boyo.” says Robin, serious as a judge.
“OK tomorrow, Robin. Promise. Sorry I missed reporting your birth in August. Been up to my eyeballs getting this ultrasonic device called the NEO Neurophone out into the world on Indiegogo. Got a break in the action as we sold out $1.6 million of them so fast the scientist Dr. Flanagan was caught off guard on restocking.” I say, resent creeping into my thoughts about the lost momentum.
Robin imitates an Indian guru, “Indeed, you must be patient, my friend. Breathe deep and trust all is unfolding perfectly imperfect. The 3,333 NEOs you sold for the doctor are making an ultrasonic harmonic we blues are receiving. Too many NEOs too soon is not what we wanted, most definitely.”
“Ah ha. So your blue whale clan ruling the oceans is responsible for this break in the NEO action. That’s a heck of a way to get me blogging again,” I laugh as I exit the Jeep and head for the movie theater to watch THE WALK.
The promising movie bombed opening weekend and so I share the theater this warm Tuesday night 10/15/15 with only one other person, a woman who looks at me nervously one time and never makes eye contact again. She remains quiet as a mouse to my roars of laughter at the funny moments of the film. You never want to sit directly in front of me in a movie.
To fill the theater void, Robin appears in human spirit form. He’s dressed in a blue jump suit form, munching a popcorn in the seat beside me. Of course only I can see him as the movie opens. This is typical of all my visions. Robin shape shifts into a blue skinned Roger Ebert, offering commentary, “Watched this talented lad grown up in THIRD ROCK FROM THE SUN. Sadly, Josh Gordon-Levit overdoes his French accent… but his sweet face gets you past it.”
I chuckle softly. Even dead Williams is hilarious. Josh narrates on screen as his character Philippe Petit, perched on the Statue of Liberty, the twin towers, where the walk will occur, glittering in the background. “I see why this film has bombed,” I offer to Robin.
“Do say, Ken?” says Robin now in the form of a blue skinned Gene Siskel.
“People are still too sad to see a movie about the twin towers.” I say as I experience an epiphany about the foreshadowing of Robin playing the shape shifting blue skinned Genie in ALADIN and his now being reincarnated as a blue whale. Whoa.
“Yeah, bummer. In fact I am getting depressed. I need more of Mamu’s milk. I leave you to it, Sheeterino!” Robin vanishes in a puff of blue smoke and I settle in to watch the movie.
The narration choice of writer director Zemeckis drags this movie down all the way through.The wire scene makes all painful expository narration worth the watch. A film well worth seeing on the big screen. 3 moons of the world Nektar out of 5.
And there you have it. The world’s first movie review with ghost blue whale Robin Williams commentary.
Robin Williams reviews his own movie WHAT DREAMS MAY COME from the great beyond.
Robin Channeled by Ken Sheetz, who finds all this as unbelievable as you, dear reader.
Hola, out there in WordPress land! It’s your old pal Robin Williams, who did an early check-out from the Hotel Earth last summer. Miss so many of you. And pretty much since I jumped ship, I’ve been bugging my living pal Ken Sheetz to watch my favorite movie I ever played in: WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. I am watching today, Easter for the powerful minority knows as Christians, fresh through his teary eyes.
We’re only half way through and I give it ten stars and on a scale of five.
My whale pod I am connected to via mama whale is watching too. Stay tuned. Back in an hour.
I think they could have found a better actor for the part of Chris. Get the Chris-t thing? Before I dove into work of becoming a blue whale in my next life, due to arrive again in August, I met Christ over here. We hung together for a while at a heavenly rave party, where we spirits birthed a new galaxy. Jesus is a genuinely nice dude. Not any different than the rest of us souls, except he’s like a hippie on love steroids. Jesus H! Christ is mighty pissed off about all the nasty crap people do, and have done, abusing his name. Especially on Easter.
Yep, they coulda picked a Deniro to play Chris and maybe this great film would’ve been a big hit. Welp, least I am not quite so bummed I didn’t win an Oscar for Best Actor playing Chris Nielson. Chris, he’s a man who beat hell itself to save his suicide wife now. Deep as the deep blue sea mama carries me in.
Why is WHAT DREAMS MAY COME my number one choice all time fav, o’ blubber breath, you ask, dear reader?
Simple. Because, WHAT DREAMS MAY COME sends the exacto right message about the other side, the over-here that is not the after-life but the always-life. The life you live now reading Ken’s writing my words. Ah that’s the dream, the over-here.
Relax com-padres, there ain’t no heaven and ain’t no hell and no Easter Bunny. Hate to be a spoiler, but like life the afterlife, whether you got here via a natural death, a US drone dropped on you as innocently you ate dinner in Iraq with your loved ones or suicide like me, is what you make of it.
Yes! Life and after-life are what you make of it! I hope Ken makes a t-shirt of that. Shit. I just laid one of the best Williams Easter eggs after I’m dead? No one’s gonna believe it. Ah. Ken whispers in the mind he’s allowing me to share, he will make the t-shirt and my LIFE AND THE AFTER-LIFE ARE WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT! line stands on it’s own enough for believers and skeptics alike.
So the screenwriters got it right adapting the novel for WHAT DREAMS MANY COME for the big screen that’s never looked bigger or more painterly gorgeous in any movie in history. And that’s why I loved playing Christy in my little contribution to conscious films. Ha! And to watch it with Ken on a weekend when FAST AND FURIOUS 7…7!…is breaking all box office records, turning humans into mindless action junkies with the attention span of gnats, is ironic as the hell that does not exist! — Plot? FAST FURIOUS 7 needs a plot? Pass the sugar drinks and shut the hell up, whale fetus!
Now, if you don’t mind, my human loves, I am busy getting gestated as a blue whale. Reborn this August with a hot new frequency to rock the planet! So mummy whale says it’s time for me to go nigh-nigh in her tummy so’s I put on another dozen pounds!
But before I swim off to dream fetus whale dreams that may come of the frequency of a better tomorrow for this world, one I loved enough to make a quick reentry, may I say thanks for the ghost hosting Ken Sheetz? You’re one in a trillion galaxies, Sheetzy.
Yeah, I know, Kenster, you’re blue as blue whale today over a lady friend who hurt you badly this week. ‘Bout as bad as it could get. She dissed and dismissed you like a never-was, worse than a has-been. Her loss. Past-life shit. Nope, Ken. Follow not my shortcut route outta the pain of life, sounding kinda cool to you right now to your wounded soul. Sorry, BuzzBro, you’re not allowed to follow my lead! The blue ET angels, star kin to the blue whales, told you in 2010, you Mister Kenneth W. Sheetz must stick around to the year 2060 and finish your crazy WHAT DREAMSHIELDS MAY COME mission, of which I am proud to play a small role in.
Well, as you know, if you are a fan of my peculiar blog, Robin Williams spirit seemed, I must always be the doubter to some degree, so seemed to be visiting me often after his death. Incredible and whacky as that sounds, Robin drifted away from heavy contact to be conceived as a blue whale. He will be born this August.
“Takes a long time for a mama whale to make a baby blue! ” Robin explained to me over coffee, one day. “I’m making my comeback as whale to sing a new song of joy and love for the world!”
My nutty life since my 2010 awakening in Italy had gotten a lot nuttier. I worried to Robin, telepathically as the waitress noticed me placing mug of hot coffee in front of an empty chair only I could sense Robin sitting in, “To some skeptics it’s gonna seem like I am capitalizing on your death.”
Robin’s spiritual answer? “Fuck ’em! This is really happening, Ken. No one can prove it either way. Share this whale of tale. For some it’s gonna make ’em happy I’m still around. For one’s who don’t believe, it won’t mean whale doo doo. Ha!”
So with all the love in the world here the fuck goes again. Another “Robin and Why Not Me?” visitation story, first in a while. Not surprisingly Robin’s visitation are my most popular blog posts so far, more popular than my meditations in Antarctica to save the world that will one day both be gathered up into a book called “All The Way South.”
Seeking some solace I am not drifting into a sea on insanity I sought out the great sonic healer Tom Kenyon at the Conscious Life Expo last week. Sorry no pic, my assistant Gen was shy to join us.
Can’t wait for the day that amazing young woman gets over that shyness and does that part of the work what I hired her. I’m patient. She’s only been with me 5 months. No worries. She’ll get there. Yep. Ten years of meeting celebs in Hollywood has taught me that as long as you are respectful celebs love to be approached. It is, after all, the extrovert’s mission is to have fans.
I complimented Tom that he had done an amazing series of whale songs for his part in the Dr. Masaru Emoto tribute. Emoto is a FB friend I miss dearly. Not that we ever conversed much. I just loved him in my news feed. Tom was happy I enjoyed his Emotto, the water master, whale song tribute. Tom was such bad-ass in he took no intro and just silently exited the stage, after blowing all our minds.
I told Tom I am having visits from Robin as a whale fetus, and his story of the new whale song Robin will sing with his pod to shift the planet to joy and bliss. Tom, a serious man, smiled and nodded and said, “Yes, that sounds like something Robin would do.”
I shook Tom’s hand and said, “Well, thanks for taking me seriously.”
Tom added, “Definitely.” and excused himself to join his son.
I am back in Sedona, after visiting hundreds of friends in LA and deeply back into into my hermit persona that’s so different than how I am anywhere else in the world, Antarctica included. I first learned our persona and horoscopes are heavily influenced by geographic location from a powerful Canadian astrologer during my stint as the social media and sometimes event director at the Great Spirits Ranch in Malibu.
The Astrologer told me in LA is was weak on money attraction for me but back in my base of Chicago I was an epic money man. All true. Time to get a Sedona reading to see why solo life here is a factor.
It’s been a productive, if very lonely life, here in Sedona. I’ve tried two housemates for company in this isolated city with no pedestrian life to speak of, both ended abruptly and painfully. I lost a hiking buddy who works in the spirit tourism trade over his disliking my stance against chemtrails on FB. Chemtrails not real? Get real. Don’t get me wrong I won’t blow up a friendship over chemtrails. He did, attributing believing in chemtrails to being akin to fear of Gays. Huh! Walking papers sent.
One healer woman I met here is so lost and stuck here she barely leaves her home. I fight that urge with hikes, a Pilates class twice a week, eating out at Sedona’s highly limited restaurants. Quality here falls off fast after Cottonwood’s Bocce and Sedona’s Chocolate Tree. Most fare here in the red rock is GMO to the max here. A paradox you combat here by eating healthy organic for at home a lot. Thus back to isolation.
Frequent trips out of town are all that keeps me sane and connected to humanity, aside from the web where I work each day doing socially conscious social media.
I try to be social here in Sedona but it does not work out like it does for me everywhere else. I have about 500 real-life powerful friends on my personal email list. I make friends very easily. But not in Sedona. I was at small Sedona wine party Thursday. I was being social, but it felt forced. One woman sat all alone staring into space. We chatted a while and then she drifited away. Weird. I met an attractive divorcee, who had organized the party for promoting industrial hemp. Seemed promising, but her eyes glazed over when we got to the topic of chemtrails. Such denial our poison skies here. Once the party bunch reached a movie theater showing the film the party was about, cool movie about industrial hemp, I chose to sit alone. Felt so right.
My assistant Gen had a nice friend in town but the idea of being out with them on Valentine’s Day filled me with a dread. I declined and worked all day. I find here in Sedona I am withdrawing further and further from the world of people.
So you can imagine that the spirit visit with Robin felt warm and welcome this Valentine’s Day. Funny. It’s as though I am more connected to spirit people than living people here. Quite puzzling yet wonderful.
At any rate here, was my exchange with Robin today, posted to Facebook in real time. I do that live with Robin, who wants me to learn to imitate his voice for channeling and I am resistive of as it’s a bit manic, much as I love his amazing syle, for me.
ROBIN’S VALENTINE’S MESSAGE
Robin: Valentine’s is always my favorite holiday!
Ken: Why is that, Robin?
Robin: Well, I could make a wisecrack about how easy of a day Valentine’s is to get laid. Ha! But being a whale fetus has taken some of the edge off squishy me. So instead I’ll go spiritual on your ass, Sheetzy and say it’s because of all the love. Yeah, I know it was a god damn Hallmark Holiday for starts. But, man, breathe deep. Breathe the love, baby. The Hallmark corporates did something groovy by mistake. Score one for the light side of the force!
Ken: Yeah, been tuning in on the Valentine’s love from the living Neuro transmitter that is Sedona red rocks and crytals all day. Nice.
Robin: I wanna say to all the lonely hearts out there, like you, Kenny my man, that me and Mama Whale and all us whale cats are with you. Listen to us sing! I’ve already been teaching mama my groovy new frequency of love and joy from inside her big beautiful whale tum tum. We and the dolphins dudes and dudettes are gathering for a new song for Mama Earth! Yo!
Ken: I hear you, bro.
Robin: Actually, I’m a girly whale this incarnation, Sheeterino!
Ken: Well then I am with you, “sista” whale. I have a girl cousin named Robin so you don’t even need a name change.
Robin: Change, baby! Talk about it. I didn’t just have a sex change. I had a whole species change! Whoa! Awesomely epic! can’t wait for my first solo swim in August. Watch out Seven Seas!
Ken: Cool to hear from you so strong again. You were out of touch, just popping in for little giggles.
Robin: Hey, Kenster. It’s a lot of work building a whale fetus and teaching a new song for the earth. Cut me some slack. Hahahaha!
Ken: I am one uptight mo fo. Hahaha!
Robin: Well, speaking of hard work whale building. Mama’s telling me to stop transmitting. Happy VD. The good kind! Williams out!
Ken: Ciao, Robin. Talk again soon. Thanks for the pep talk. Love to you and the pod.
Well, Robin’s whale of a spirit is more conversation than I had with any living soul today, Valentine’s Day. Perhaps that’s part of why I am a hermit in Sedona. My only friends are all work or services related. Lots to ponder on this early morning after a solo Valentine’s Day of hard work preparing for a meeting with my main client.
Love the visits still happening with Robin. Not had time to get on the blog much, especially after getting locked out due to some Merc magic. Let’s catch up with a wild one for you.
Back in August Robin’s newly minted ghost wanted me to go the San Diego with him and visit the blue whales. The mission? Help Robin be reincarnated as a blue whale. Robin explained he wanted to join the whales and dolphins is sending forth an ultrasonic frequency of laughter and love into the world to free humanity. I was too busy on the ultrasonic NEO Neurophone crowd funder to break away like that and Robin said a bit sadly, “I’ll go it alone then, Ken Sheetz.”
A few weeks later after the NEO funder launched, a huge hit that made it’s minimum goal in 72 hours I was having coffee a local spot here named the Coffee Pot restaurant and Robin joined me for coffee as he loves coffee and appears to me often when I have some brew.
“Sheetzy, I did it! I am in big mama blue whale waiting to be born again a as creature of the seven seas!”
There amidst all the overweight tourists Robin revealed his whale fetus self floating before me. I almost choked on my coffee and said telepathically, “Nice.”
“Nice? Nice is all you have to say? I’m a freaking baby blue whale, Sheetzo. No thanks to you. Hey, I kind look like that Genie I played in ALADIN!”
“I am sorry I could not abandon the Flangans, Robin. It’s how I am built. But I am happy for you. And I am getting now that it’s all connected. The pocket sized blue whale untrasonics of the NEO and your song with the blue whales.” I say to the smirking blue whale fetus. “How long until you’re born, Robin?”
“Do I look like a whale expert? Look it up on Google, please. Like to know how much longer I will be in mama whale’s belly.”
I type “gestation period for blue whales” in to my Iphone.
“Females typically give birth once every two to three years at the start of the winter after a gestation period of 10 to 12 months. The calf weighs about 2.5 tonnes (2.8 short tons) and is around 7 metres (23 ft) in length. Blue whale calves drink 380–570 litres (100–150 U.S. gallons) of milk a day.”
“Damn 2.5 tons I’ll be at birth! And I thought I was fat when I broke 200 pounds for a while!” belly laughs Robin.
“Looks like next summer late you will be a whale calf, Robin.” I say telepathically to Robin who has assumed his human form thankfully in the chair opposite me as my pancakes arrive.
“Yum. I love pancakes. Can I taste if you’ll be so kind as to loan me that fab bod of yours for a few?” asks Robin. “Been shy to ask you before. But we’ve bonded. You trust me right?
I nod and I feel Robin’s spirit merge with mine. I step aside from the body and let him taste the pancakes. “Oooh! Thanks, Kenny. Back to my chair.” Robin leaves my body, glowing with pancake joy in the across from me.
“Lots of people missing you, Robin. Been thinking of helping get together a Robin Williams Film Festival here in Sedona. Featuring great live standup mixed with your films and great new ones after the funder is rolling. Sedona needs more laughter. Such a serious place,” I say.
“Love it, Sheetzy! I’ll be helping you from the seas! Let’s make it happen. But I see one big problem,” grins Robin.
“What’s that?” I say.
“You don’t really believe any of my visits are real.” says Robin sadly, cupping his hands around the coffee mug I have filled and that sit in his chair, empty to all in the restaurant but me.
“I do and I don’t, Robin. Please, it’s my way of keeping my sanity,” I say thinking of my brother who has been recently in and out of mental hospitals.
“Fred’s not crazy because he sees a lot of what you do. He’s got the DTs.” says Robin, reading my mind. “Here let me give you a sign to show you that you’re not nuts seeing me, Sheetzo. Look at my coffee mug.”
I reach across the pancakes and pick up the mug. There on the side of the mug, two blue whaled stand in relief, like reverse hieroglyphs!
Robin vanishes with a pleased laugh at my shock as the middle aged vet waitress comes up to my table, “More coffee, sir?”
“No thanks. I’ve had more than enough, waitress.” I say in wonder.
“I noticed you poured a cup to cool off while you drank the other. Smart. OK, hon, you need anything else you let me know.” She smiles turning to go.
“Wait, there is one thing. Can I buy this coffee mug with the whales on it?” I say showing her the whales in the side of the mug.
“Huh. Never saw whales on our mugs before, We have desert stuff on them. Kokopellie, cactus’s, ya know. Never whales. Lemme check with the manager if you can buy it.”
A short time later the waitress returns, “OK, young man, you have a deal. One whale mug from the desert of Seodna for $20.”
“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams, from the afterlife.
A familiar new inner voice pops into the chorus that is the inner universe I call my big fat head, “Nah! Change that quote to ‘from the great beyond!’ Sheetzy, for the blog poster.
“Why?” I ask, questioning Robin as I do all spirits who’ve been visiting me since my near death experience in age 5, blogged here in detail. I’ve never met a ghost I didn’t like in all my 57 years of communing with “the great beyond” as Robin likes to call it not the…
“Afterlife. WRONG! That’s human lingo,” adds Robin’s voice in my fingertips. “In reality, in the great beyond, well, there ain’t no f’ing past or future here, no judging, no heaven and sure as hell no hell. Time and all the shit that goes with it is an earth game, part of the contract the spirit guides make you sign when you incarnate on earth.”
I pause to think, “Have I finally gone totally nuts? How can I be hearing, Robin William’s explicit thoughts and language, his standup side, so clearly even though he passed away in August?” Remnants of my Irish grandmother’s telling me to hide my gifts, which I managed well until 2010, another blog.
Robin chimes back in, “Stop wondering and write! Not sure how long our connection will last. Any, who, doubting Sheetz, there all these life stipulations, in the fine print the smarmy spirit guides — who’d make great fucking lawyers! — force you to sign before you can get born on earth. The sneaky bastards sneak the nastiest one into the contract, stuck in this itsy-bitsy clause, tucked in between what’s your hair color choice and what’s the size of your ass!”
“So that’s why my ass is huge!” I riff back to Robin out loud. Thank god I am laughing alone in my office or you might never see this blog. Talking to yourself is still a no-no of the Man that can get you in the loony bin.
Robin is ranting on so fast my fingers can barely keep up in my weird self-invented shorthand! This will take forever to proof! Not my best skill set as I came on the biz scene in the 70s when we had this person called a secretary. PC terms even PC, hate that shit, had not blessedly come into vogue in those 70s three Martini lunch days when I rose in the Matrix of Chicago to become a millionaire. All this was before sexual harassment abuses by assholes with wandering hands ruined it for the rest of us that simply enjoyed a little playful flirting with our secretaries that might lead to more between two consenting adults.
These days, in the so-called more advanced 21st century where heart and fun is missing from biz, I am painfully on my own, typing poorly as Robin thinks faster than the speed of light, his voice echoing in my fertile empty skull. Now toss in I have glaucoma and am slowly losing vision and, well, you see why proofing is not my thing. I work every day as though it’s my last with sight. In the future, someone can fix all my typos! I gotta get things out there. No time to please the fastidious with perfect blogs or post on FB.
Robin’s voice takes me from my little pity party above, “There’s this little wart of a clause that stipulates the newly departed, and that’s all I am here, suicide has its own set of rules for reincarnation. No judging. Death is death, And we Newly-Deads must take a break from our eternal spirits pals. Here in the great beyond, in spirit form, as well as on earth in human form when you incarnate it a time of painful separation. Paradox alert! All so a soul, like muah’s, feels the love and pain of their earthly life one last horrific time, lasting up to max 100 years tops. Luckily, Sheetz-cheeks, here in the eternity of time and space 100 years adds up to what we call: The Moment of Cosmic Silence. No wonder the spirit guides hide that clause between hairy butt cheeks.”
“I relate. I’m renting a house from a coven of lawyers, makes life hell in Sedona.” I say grimly, glaring at the defective HVAC system I sealed off that pisses me off daily. That this family trust of lawyer won’t fix. “There’s hope though. I actually met a good guy lawyer on FB recently. A loving father watching over a kid hanging on one of my FB groups. So lawyers do actually have hearts in this and so too in the afterlife.”
“Sheetzy, again, where I am now is not the “afterlife’. Williams to Kenneth William Sheetz. That’s my name in the middle of your name Kenneth WilliamS heetz. Clue, my clueless friend overcoming a childhood of Catholic brainwashing and family surpression of your mental gifts. No afterlife. This is LIFE! Life in the great beyond. Ain’t nothing” after-life” about it! Robin Williams, as a sentient spirit of the universe, is eternal and operates outside of time and space. Kinda like we are all gods here. Robin’s not my even my name or gender here in eternity. I have no gender, I am ALL here as we ALL are,” says Robin, spreading his arms and flying right through the sun.
“Wow,” is all I can think to think to Robin seeing his name inside my name, “There’s no more to all this than meets the third-eye.”
Robin riffs on, my typing nightmare growing, “That little name clue blow your mind, my fellow WILLIAMS? Google William. Do it now please. I’ll hang on Alpha Centarui while you search the all seeing oracle of your time.”
Google come back with lots of stuff. I like this one best from Behind the Name.com about the meaning of the name William: From the Germanic name Willahelm, which was composed of the elements wil “will, desire” and helm “helmet, protection”. Saint William of Gellone was an 8th-century cousin of Charlemagne who became a monk.
“I know your old man who beat you regular as the Sunday papers, was a William,” says Robin standing beside me patting my shoulder. “But he played a part too as a man with WILLIAMS in his name. That part was teaching you to be funny. Shame his darkness got the better of him. He was manic depressive like me and you,” says Robin gently.
“Let’s no go there, Robin. My dad, well. It’s complex. I’ll meditate more on this WILLIAMS pattern and him and me and you. A Williams trinity later. Let’s get back to the great beyond. Where my dad’s been since 2011 after dying of bladder cancer before I could say good-bye. He’d beaten cancer many times before. My kids have not forgiven me for missing his farewell. After his death he did make me that red suit of ethereal armor, with high-tech helmet, so there’s the name pattern. Funny that armor was strong enough to help me close the Bermuda triangle but not strong enough to survive busting your soul out of area 51. Whoa,” I say, taking a gulp of coffee, “Back to the cosmic. I’ve met a lot of ETs who are asexual. Any sex thoughts from out there in the great beyond on gender?”
“Good Morning Battle of the Sexes!” says Robin with the passion his famed GOOD MORNING VIETNAM line. “Gender’s a groovy earth thing that makes life more ying and yang in the pooty tang. Here time’s not linear. It’s curly cue as grown-up Shirly Temple’s locks on the Good Star ship Lollipop. Talk about a party boat! Fucking is required at the door before getting beamed aboard naked. Yes, Sheetz-entine, linear is as boring as the hell of the first SFX tale, The Bible. Boring as that fat slob Limbaugh who I am sending a herd Tibetan goats to crap up with his lawn! Here, in the great beyond, we can incarnate at any point in history, on any world, even overlap our incarnations, be either sex and marry ourselves. Always a disaster, BTW, Sheetzrama!”
A dizzying deja’ vu, spins inside my head and I utter out loud, “Whoa,” here in my defective, but lovely, rental house, that reminds me that even the heaven of Sedona, like the great beyond, has dickheads.
“Yeah, you’ve fucked YOU way too many times, Sheetzy! Ha! Talk about creative masturbation!, ” laughs Robin.
“Jesus H. No wonder my relationships are so damn weird,” I say, feeling nauseated.
“Are you a good fuck as both sexes, Ken? Double the wardrobe decisions! If you don’t mind a personal question from the great beyond, you know, as both the man and woman in the sack?” chuckles Robin as I gag into waste can.
“Sometimes…?” I offer weakly, staggering over the washroom to swig some Pepto.
“Ha! Way more to life than we ever, ever see! I am no one to kid you for too much self-love. Relationships, sure as the hell that surely does not exist, are something I never did master either. For this reason in my a next life I must repeat that lesson. And come to think of it, I see what you are doing with your overlapping incarnation fuck fest. Beats hurting another soul. So rotten I signed up for suicide before I was born. Never again! Wow. I miss all my cutie pie wives and adorable kids and lovers and loves and fans, and on so, so terribly on, here in my Moment of Cosmic Silence.” says Robin and who goes silent.
I wait respectfully for Robin’s spirit to speak again as I check my Facebook and do some emails. Cosmic multitasking. Then I see Robin pondering, tears on his cheeks. He drifts out past our Milky Way, a distant swirl of billions of stars and trillions of worlds. Millions, like our own, with sentient life.
Robin’s amazing voice reverberates in my mind as he finally resumes, speaking a bit softer and more slowly than his normal mile a minute pace, in his mourning,”We spirits of intelligence are the light of the universe held in the loving bosom of the what scientists call dark matter. A boring description for the glue that holds all reality to-fucking-gether, buzz bro.”
“I take it you’ve met Ohom, my higher self from another dimension when you say buzz bro, Robin?”
“Not yet, in your sense of linear time. Waiting for your intro, sir, to the insectoid higher 16th dimensional you.” says Robin.
“This is more confusing BACK TO THE FUTURE, but go on,” I say in genuine frustration.
Robin speaks in the professorial tones of his character from DEAD POETS SOCIETY, John Keating,”In concentrated form, where strands of love light energy crisscross, sentient worlds like earth coalesce from mama universe’s cosmic vagina. (BTW, I wanted to write “womb” end of last sentence but Robin said, ‘No dice, Vagina’) The universe’s babies, from the endless lovemaking here, form trillions and trillions of planets that grow up to be Gaia’s sentient sisters of the universe!”
“Slow down a little Robin. I may be bright but I am a fucking lousy typist,” I say in my mind to Robin. He’s in his Peter Pan outfit he likes now, flying lazy circles earth’s moon now. It looks like fun, but I sense the deep loneliness Robin is feeling of space and his missing being flesh and blood.
“Sheetzy, mama universe and papa spirit get bizee over here. UH!” Says Robin making pelvic thrust for emphasis. “So lot’s and lot’s earth-like worlds, each with its own set of rules those crazy spirit lawyers dream up. All in search of that perfect blend of excitement in harmony with nature, they all exist out here. Earth, you see, she’s just a part of one experiment. Poor Gaia’s bordering on a cosmic nervous breakdown because her ingrate human kids are a fucking nightmare of parental abuse! A dash too much drama and sadness there on our old blue world. ‘Sup to all earthlings! Add a pinch of love to the recipe to save the dish, earth homies!” says Robin, soaring past a glittering eagle made of stardust.
“Speaking of sadness and drama, you brought it up, Robin, so I gotta ask –”
“Ah why, if we agree to all the shit we agree to before were born, did I accept all the crushing manic depression that killed poor me off?” Robin rambles grimly on to my inner nod, “Been on my mind too, what’s left of it. Don’t have all my memories here. Hey! You know the answer. You told me we over coffee , Sheetzy!”
“Yes!” I type to Robin, and you at once, how efficient, on my keyboard. “Soul stuff I learned in Italy when I asked my soul teacher Connie Miller, after meeting so many nice Italians, ‘How the hell did these sweet Italian people ever produce a Mussolini?’ Connie said, ‘The brighter the light the darker the shadow.'”
“Right on, soul sister Connie. Yeah, my mission in life was to bring a lot of light to the world through my comedy. And, before I was born, I knew that all the fucking darkness, balancing of my bright light, would kill me in the end. That, to be fair to the spirit guides, one was not hidden in the small print,” says Robin, shifting to his famed Shakespeare shtick, while passing through a super nova, laughing wildly. “Pirthee, All my days on earth, yay, verily, I fought my inner darkness longest as I couldeth, thus giving out a fair light that now outliveth my pale countenance forever more, ”
“Could one say your darkness also outlives you, Robin?” I say typing.
Robin stops on the fringe of the Nova that lights him up, pondering solomly and says, “Ah, you do wound me to the quick, kind sir. The sorrow of my loved ones and fans is ultra-dark. Heavy. Oh so heavy! And, shit, I see some folks are following my lead. Suicide copycats.”
All the stars extinguish around Robin and his voice fades, as when you start to lose a radio signal, “Much darkness. But life is a never-ending dance of light and dark. Residue light will be generated from my residue darkness. Ying and yang. Sides of one coin. A point of view. No judging. Now, after my death, my films take on a whole new pathos. My comedy a tint of tragedy. I can hear some in the audience, ‘Oh that poor tortured soul… he makes me pee my pants he’s so funny! Ha! Ha!”
Amazed by the profound, yet funny, insight Robin just shared, I say with my keyboard, “Anything more to add Robin? Gotta get to work. I don’t get paid to blog. Proofing this one may take a week or two (which it has).
“Oh, do I bore you, Ken, sharing the meaning of the universe?” says Robin, making a joke of his hurt feelings.
“Heck no! Sorry to rush you, Robin. I value you your connection, real or imagined. It’s Tuesday after Labor Day here on earth. Short week. Lots to do because our PR person took another job on us yesterday. So I spent all day getting great a new PS master in place. Good recovery, New one seems awesome. She’s worked with many of my clients like Don Miguel Ruiz and Eric Pearl. But it busted my balls, all happening just week before the launch of a major Indiegogo. All for a gizmo called the Neurophone, that might just be making our talks possible, Robin to Sheetz. Since the Neurophone does enhance my mind. And I’ve been telepathic since almost dying age five but all is so much clearer now with the Neurophone to help,” I say realizing I should be listening to Robin, not nattering on about my life and work.
Robin guffaws and says “Nerophone, huh? Hey I left earth to escape product placements, Sheetz! Once had to stick a can of shaving cream up my ass for product placement. But let’s wrap it up and let you “make the donuts. Pay this man Dunkin Donuts for a plug from the great beyond by Robin Williams’ ghost. Sorry, good luck with that, Ken, I don’t have my Hollywood clout out here. OMG I can look inside myself and see the last thing I ever ate before my belting off!”
“Wow. This could be confirmation, Robin. All I need to do is access the coroner’s report and –”
“Ha ha! Not much help, Sheetzy. All I see in my transparent intestines is shit. Literally,” laughs Robin, pooping a new galaxy into in space.
“Always the comedian, Mr. Williams,” I chuckle sadly,
“Yeah, our connection. Laughs and tears. — Sheetyz, earthly movie and TVs producers love happy endings. That’s just like the real stars of the cosmos and all the other worlds. All love happy endings. So, earthies, keep loving each other up. Even when it gets a little weird around the water cooler! Fuck all the rules, humanity. Love is all that matters for each other and every critter on the space ball ride with you. Williams out!”
As I get up from my writing chair to make breakfast Robin adds, “Nanoo Nanoo, Sheetzy!”
Laughter is my reply, an audience of one for the greatest comic of all time’s spirit. One I am blessed to be talking to. Real or imagined, both Robins co-exist in my mind, so why give a nanoo nanoo? Bottom-line this is fun and healing for me and others reading.
Make you smile? Give you some release of the sorrow we all feel losing Robin. Like to see more? Well, in my earthly form my time must go where the money is. So make a donation at DreamShield.org and keep the stories flowing. Robin’s ghost connection is weakening. Not sure this is the last of his visits on the blog. I hope not. Sorry for any typos:)
Aw. Before we speak of Robin and an amazing techno-meditation device I’ve been blessed to discover that may have saved his life as it’s saved mine, meet the future. My puppy Sophia, now 7 years-old, just turning 50 in human years, is living with an adorable LA family I found to adopt her. She was hard to give up. Don’t get me started on Obama’s failed jobless recovery. But it did get me traveling.
Still, much as I love the traveling life. I miss Sophia. It makes me sad to think, Sophia who ages seven times the rate of a human, will one day soon catch up to me in years, pass me by and pass on. I plan to visit her again soon, before she’s too old to cuddle with me.
Sophia and I bonded instantly. Love at first sight at a pet store in LA where I was filming a commercial in 2007. Sophia became the star of my most popular short film starring Ed Asner, ZACK’S MACHINE.
WISDOM FROM “BACK FROM THE DEAD DANNION”
In my 2012 interview of him, best seller author and consultant to film and TV, Dannion Brinkley asked me the question I ask you now:
What’s the one medical condition that leads to more deaths on this world than any other condition? I guessed heart attacks when Dannion, who has been struck by lightning twice and been dead three times, asked me.
Post your guess below. I will give prize of one free bottle of Dr. Flanagan’s famed Megahydrate, that hydrates you from the inside out. Which one of you wins? Simple, the one I like best. Post your answer now before continuing to read.
Back? Ok. The correct answer according to Dannion is birth. Yes, birth, the hillbilly swami, says is the leading cause of death. Take a look in your mind’s eye: Everyone and everything on this world, this world itself in fact, is born to die.
Age. That’s my morning meditation today. Or more specifically time. Why do we choose atomic decay, or aging, as the universal constraint of our reality?
Why do we agree to live such short lives, less than the blink of an eye to the cosmos? And why in so many different bodies and life forms? Indeed, some forms of insect live an entire life in matter of hours.
Tell you a secret I only learned yesterday in my amazing meditation at the Stupa in Sedona, that I filmed for DreamShield, not all sentient life in the universe lives in linear time like we all do on earth. Some worlds, like the moon of Nektar I can reach in meditation, live outside time and space.
Why do we earthlings, from puppies to princes, choose to in live linear time, to be young, to breed, to raise our young and then to die? Pretty profound blog for something that started from a puppy picture, yes?
OK, Take four deep breaths and strap on your Neurophone with me as you read this post. Let’s ponder the big question of aging, incarnation and time. Wait! Don’t have a Neurophone? Don’t even know what the heck a Neurophone is?
THE NEUROPHONE. WHY I LOVE IT AND ITS INVENTOR
First invented in 1958 by Patrick Flanagan, when he was only 13-years-old, the Neurophone, explained in detail at NewNeurophone.com where a historic crowd funder launches on September 3, 2014, is a profound techno-meditation device. It works by sending gentle ultrasonic waves through your brain through sci fi looking transducers you wear on your forehead. This subtle ultrasonic effect increases blood flow by a whopping 300%, balances left and right brain functions while it activates your ancient ears.
But wait! Long as I am sounding like an infomercial. Wearing a Neurophone for just a few months for an hour a day might increase your meditation power to the level of a yogi in a cave, according to the inventor. And, most amazingly, in most cases, says Dr. Flanagan, it will boost your boost IQ. I confirm that. I am smarter for using it for over a year now myself. Typos still being my weak point that take me forever to weed out. But the content is way, way up in depth of thought. Someday the software will be there to correct my typing flaws.
Any who, before we go further, Patrick Flanagan, the brilliant inventor of the Neurophone, who Deepak Chopra calls a gift to humanity, is a client. The most amazing client I’ve ever had. And considering Oprah is a client for whom I built Harpo Studios for, that’s no small statement on my part. So keep in mind I am somewhat biased about the Neurophone. A paycheck has a way of doing that.
But I have confession. Something I’ve not yet told Patrick. Here is it. Without this amazing client in my life, without needing to try the Neurophone to promote it, I would never have tried techno-meditation. You see, I felt, I should be enough. I meditate on my own power! In other words, ego held me back.
The doctor gifted me with an NF3 Neurophone on in March of 2013. Confession details: I did not start wearing for half a year. It would take a failed love affair with a selfish beauty that was depressing me to finally get me to use it in earnest almost a full year later. Yeah, it was the blues that brought me to being a Neurophone fan. You see, I’d heard it can help people who suffer from depression.
Depression kills. It recently killed Robin Williams. Many in my family have died of depression through self-medication, namely drinking and drugging.
The Neurophone has worked very well for my battle with depression I have fought all my life without drugs, mainly choosing work as my natural high that keeps me going. In fact I am sad right now over a losing housemate here in Sedona. Living all alone here in a small town where the people all seem either ancient or too young and I work from home is tough. Normally, after such as loss of an amazing housemate I’d be in bed, not able to face the day, but here I am, happy to be normal sad, not suicidal sad, at my computer, sharing my first techno-meditation with you, a term I dreamed up for describing Dr. Flanagan’s Neurophone.
Don’t have a Neurophone yet? Has the $800 price tag scared you away from investing in the marvelous modern marvel that got Dr. Falangan featured in LIFE magazine, this profound tool for improving your brain?
Good news! Through a lot of determinate and hard work, as he wants more of the world to have one, all you need to do is until 9.3.14 and you can pre-order a 2015 Neurophone for only $399. That’s fabulous 50% price and upgrades like a new rechargeable lithium battery and healing sound frequencies to boot.
Don’t be chicken like me and wait until the grim reaper of suicide is at your door. I truly believe the Neurophone might saved Robin Williams, based on my success using one, and might be able be able to save you .
Everything Dr. Flanagan invents is gentle and good and meant to accelerate the gifts you already have and will soon only cost $399, less than a smart phone which makes you dumber. Will the Neurophone’s gentle ultrasonic waves work for you like it’s worked for lifting my depression? I hope so. No guarantees. Let me know if it did!
Back to our meditation. Keep breathing, oxygenate your brain, Neuophone or not.
Ah, yes, age. Why do we do we choose to age unlike other worlds that choose immortality? The answer: Boredom. To certain spirits, the ones who like to incarnate here, the world where we live one life, holding to one form of life is boring. Look at our entrainment, getting shorter all the time. One minute movies are the norm on the we now. BTW, the Neurophone, the inventor tells me, stimulates the brain, thus reducing boredom.
In any case, I am no scientist and the inventor of the Neurophone, the amazing Patrick Flanagan, makes it clear the Neurophone is not a medical device. I only know on a very painful and personal level it helps beat the blues.
Are spirits who love to be born, to reboot to live life over and over again, to die, study what we learned in the spirit realm before reincarnating as what and who we chose, be it puppy or prince? I’d like to think so, but fact is no on really knows. Love the mystery! Here’s how the Neurophone makes me feel as I express in this video. About as far from depression as it gets!
“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams from the afterlife
December 2011, I am blessed to spend the Winter Solstice with Don Miguel Ruiz, author of the epic best seller THE FOUR AGREEMENTS to learn Toltec wisdom in the powerful setting of the pyramids of Mexico’s Teotihuacan.
Don Miguel teaches me, among many amazing things that help my DreamShield work, that in reality all of us live in a ghost world. For example: Look up at the sun and you are looking at a ghost image from 8 minutes ago. That’s how long sunlight takes to travel to earth.
Now let’s say you are sitting across the table from a fiend in a restaurant. It still takes the light milliseconds to reach you. So Welcome to the ghost world the Toltec wizard Don Miguel, where all the people we see are in the past, and ever a construct of our minds.
In the profound spirit of Don Miguel’s Toltec lessons, I humbly offer my latest spirit encounter with Robin Williams.
But before we start Robin would like a word with you.
Thanks, Ken, you amazing gorgeous human being helping save the planet working for peanuts in the spirit work, as an unknown, but not for long voice. I hope the fame heading your way never sends you back to that place and time when as a real estate mogul/dick and all you cared about was the cha ching. You deserve a spirit Oscar, broheem!
The dearly departed spirit of Robin Williams here. Real as a case and ever returning like a case of spirit herpes. BTW, Ken has doubts I am nothing more than a ghost pattern in his memory, bit of undigested veggie chili fries made by his smoking hot friend Genevieve, as he learned from Don Miguel Ruiz. Donnny boy, I’m on the other side now and here to tell you the ancient Toltecs smoltecs only have it half right. It’s beautiful over here, family, friends and fans. That’s FFFs for short. Which I’ll FFFing keep this.
Ignore Ken’s senior moment doubts. Ignore doubting Toltec wizards who miss the point: thought travels faster than the speed of light. Ignore anyone dick who tells you the human spirit dies at death. And while you are at it, feel free as hell to ignore those who make living out of warping spirit with these made up branded-religions, dreamed up by ancient marketing experts like so much bottled water. Spirit flows, has no rules. Knows no boundaries of what to eat, what to wear, what to think, bubba. From priests to rabbis, none of these jerkwads in the end know jack shit. None of you lovely people do.
Now some skeptics out there are saying right now as they read my spirit words channeling through Ken, who is not the greatest typist BTW, ” LO if you, kind ghost, be you in fact the great spirit of the Robin Williams, who loveth to curse like a sailor, and no PG Popeye of sailor, in his standup, pray tell us some things only the sweet Robin would know, while editing out the F.U.s!”
No can do, Nanoo. You see, that part of me, the meat brain that held my memory is gone. Even my heart is gone, all I am is spirit now. Which is kind of like saying, “All I am is the universe.” So there is no database left for me to play parlor tricks that you sad sacks would not believe in anyways.”
To the doubters and naysayers, ever those who loved me in life who be pissed about all this ghosting shit I feel compelled to, with this ghost whisper Sheetzy, who will invariably say the poor lad is profiteering off my grisly end. I have two words to that, which I somehow remember from the great beyond, and they ain’t nanoo nanoo.
Now, get off your duffs and share the link-magic of how I am still with ya’all! Subscribe to Sheetzy blog and buckle up for Peter Pan’s Battle of Area 51, just the beginning of my work with Ken and many others on the earth. I’m omnipresent now, bithces!
– Cosmic hugs, Robin
PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51
By Ken Sheetz and Robin’s Ghost
In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts. I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully. I love my little used Jeep, my first car owned in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991 and lots of spot leasing that makes me a Gold Club Hertz man, I recall as I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.
I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before. Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.
The Orion Ohom informed me along the way, “Careful, Ken. High danger alert. Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria. To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.”
“How cheery,” I answer Ohom as I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence. I tiptoe past a sleeping guard. I’m in.
I crest a rocky desert hill. Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid. It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy. Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?” I shout. “You in there, buddy?”
“Psst, keep your damn voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then screams getting sucked back in.
I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor. This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings. I’d give you a link but stick with me. No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.
As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged. Overwhelmed by deep sorrow. Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears. The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone as an nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood. I become confused. Lost. Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.
I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus, GMOs and more and more. My father’s indestructible red armor begins to spark and short out. I trip and fall face first to the desert floor. Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear. I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.
I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy? You OK, bud? Ooh. Sorry to drag you on your face. You look like you went a few round with Popeye, bro. Ca-ca-ca! What a rotten way to start a Monday.”
I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my nose, tender to the touch and say, “Guess that force field is meant to keep out the living. You like fine and dandy.”
“Oh, yeah. Forgot in this corporate fairy Iand I am dead for a moment there!” kids Robin trying to hide his sadness.
This virtual world is a well organized commercial paradise inside the spirit HARP. Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia. No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems. “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection and advertising,” I groan as an advertising blimp for McDonald’s new Quadrupole Bypass Burger floats by overhead in a cotton candy sky.
The voice of Ohom says for Robin and I to hear, “All this virtual reality is broadcast to the galaxy by Murdock Rupert. True source of his wealth.”
“Whoa! Whose talking to us, Sheetzy? Little green men?” says Robin at hearing Ohom strange voice.
“Long story,” I say as Robin helps me to my feet.
“Humor me. I’m dead and we have all of eternity, Kenny boy,” says Robin.
“Please don’t call me that. I have brother who just got out of Florida jail for two months for drinking and drugging who calls me Kenny boy,” I say sadly.
“Ah, yes, Fred. You’ve told me about his famed Near Beer Recovery program, doomed to fail. Sheetzy OK with you, my fellow sensitive friend?” I nod and Robin continues, “So the voice?”
“Hey, Robin, huge fan of your work, man,” says the disembodied voice of Ohom, echoing over the perfectly manicured lawn where a nasty looking android cop turns his head 360 degrees searching for us.
“Yeah, that one drawing attention of the police bots to us!” says Robin pulling me into crouch to hide behind a huge Ronald McDonald statue.
Ohom whispers now, “Sorry. I am Ken’s higher ET self, of the Orion star system. His guide to help him save you and himself. This place will be most difficult to escape as there will be many distractions. Could take several eons to get out.”
“Nanoo nanoo, ET brother from another mother earth. So why aren’t you in here helping us?” says Robin, not quite knowing where to look as he speaks to the air.
“Grey stolen alien tech powers the Spirit HARP. Keeps my race of Nekatrians and all other ETs out. But I can see and hear and help you through Ken’s handsome blue eyes,” whispers Ohom.
“I can tell you more about Ohom later, Robin, Let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” I urge Robin.
“OK. But you’re weirder than I am, Sheety and that’s saying something!” jokes Robin as we exit some hedges near the force field.
Hours later, after many strange distracting adventures in half built house of both our childhoods that almost make us forget to escape this fake branded corporate nightmare, Robin and I hunt in earnest for some kind of exit. Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk. The sunset is dazzling. I whistle at the beauty all around us.
“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard. You been in here now with me for six weeks, ” Robin says.
“Yup! This place is like America, filled with distractions. Look at that poor bastard over there!” says Robin.
A guy who looks a lot like my brother Fred runs on a giant gerbil wheel chasing a hot stripper holding a six pack of beer.
“Is that, my brother?” I say.
“Never met Fred. How the hell should I know?
The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.
“Yeah, let’s keep moving. Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.
“Sorry about you dad’s super suit. Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.
“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.
“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.
“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.
“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville. Oh, wait… Forgot to cut my earthly tether. Yikes. I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.
“My fault. Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground. “Happy to see you again, man! Watched you in HOOK with my night. Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.” I say doing my best acting brave to hide my loneliness that in the real world of Sedona
Williams jokes, speaking in that hilarious mile a minute rapid fire way of his,”Whoa, Sheetyz. I am an Oscar winner. Plus I can minds read now to boot. Hmm, I see you’re only “acting” all brave and all supy-superman-like. You got some serious Kryptonite poisoning over this spirit daughter of yours moving out of your digs.”
“Got me,” I say, embarrassed at my childhood abandonment issues are still crippling my life after all the spirit healing I’ve been doing.
“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.
“For what?” I say
“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.
“I did not faint. Women faint. I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.
“Whoa. Relax, man. This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost hope and change agenda. We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise. Coffee sucks here, BTW. Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup! I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.
As I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time. Change to yourself age 8. I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”
“Uh, not really, uh, time. Busting you out of here now before — ”
“Go ahead. Try, Ken. Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye. Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.
I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.
“Spiritual impotency alert! AGH! AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.
“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.
“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench. “My lap is safer than Santa’s, Come on. Up!”
I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me. With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life. A spirit daughter is rare. Appreciate her without smothering her. Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”
I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick. “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.
“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not. He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken. Genevieve’s not your mommy who left you many times as a child because she was afraid of your meanie Captain Hook of a dad, Genevieve is not your grandma who got kicked out by your mean papa and most certainly Genevieve is not your dear auntie who died from loving beer more than you.”
“She’s not?” my eight-year-old self asks innocently.
“Uh uh. She’s simply Genevieve Munoz. A sweet young lady exploring her own life who happened to cross paths with yours. A special friend, a temporary housemate, who used to be your grandma Anna in a past life. Well, I guess that’s not so simple,” says Robin gently lifting me for a swirl and standing little me up on the path. “Wanna play a game I call HELLO AND GOODBYE, little Kenny?” Robin offers, looking irresistibly mischievous.
“Ok…” I say reluctantly, not liking the sound of the GoodBye part of this game.
“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.
“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.
“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head. Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes. My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering. Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.
Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!” Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me. I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.
“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.
“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.
Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin. He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl. I spin around. “Oh no…” I whisper. My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.
“Hey, you little shit. Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words. He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.
I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan. “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin. But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.
“Don’t leave me with my Daddy! He will hurt me! He’s mean! Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.
Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.
“No! Peter Pan please. Fly me away to Neverland with you. My papa is mean. He’ll kill us both!” I beg.
“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you. Your pops is an abusing jerk. I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work. Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.
“NO! NO! My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me. I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close. I puke again on the manicured lawn. The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.
Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You! You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your. You sir are bad dad!”
“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights? Whatcha gonna do about it? Ken’s a rotten kid. The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.
“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?” As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.
My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”
But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”
“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly. My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.
“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind! Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.
“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.
“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,” kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.
I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.
My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest. “Huh? Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned. He looks at me as if wanting help. But I was a helpless child again. Watching two people I love fight. My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.
“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed. I am going to gut you like a fish! I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you. Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”
“Hello, little Kenny? A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.
“Can’t. Can’t help you, Peter Pan. I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.
“Hello, Little Kenny! Then ain’t it time you grow up? Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.
Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide! Williams shouldn’t be here. Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man. This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.
“I loved Robin’s movies. He died of depression. No different from someone dying of car crash. This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.
The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”
Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me. Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth. Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.
I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history. I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”
My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur. Every woman leaves you. And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces? Me! Ha! You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you? You make me sick, boy.”
“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook. Thanks for all you’ve done. I’m grateful, Dad. You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro. But I felt your love, your loyalty. Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.” I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.
“Growed up? Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50? That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy. You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes. They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance. Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.
“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love. I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.
“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two. But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head. I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.
Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo! Sheetz is all grown up. Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”
I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig. Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts. Today, I am proud.”
My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth. And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace. For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.
Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture. A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot. I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver. Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle
“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide. So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now. My father nods “yes” respectfully.
Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”
“What do you say, Pops? My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.
“I like it here, Son. Fought in Korea to create all this perfection. Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world. A blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.
“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me. I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore. Lost myself in the booze and drugs. I miss my wife and kids. My fans. Help your son. It’s time we started over. And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.
My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer. Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations. One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.
“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly. He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.
“For my birth daughter Janelle and spirit daughter Genevieve, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.
“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.
Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us. His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light. Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa! For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”
Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”
“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.
Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy. We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel. Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”
“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!
A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base. My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP. The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.
“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out. “Uh, sorry. Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”
“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form. Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.
“What make you say that? Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.
“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids. And more importantly, our inner kids. That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.
“No arguments here, Robin. Well, I guess this is goodbye. Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.
“Agh! Not yet. I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy. So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight. We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.
A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.
“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name is the same as the woman Ohom, my spirit guide has told me is my prefect mate but who has yet to accept my invite to Sedona. Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, Elizabeth. I wish you’d wrap up life in LA and come to Sedona.”
Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan. “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion. I said it knowing since Ohom is right about everything that she and I will meet again and share many adventures.”
“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.
I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it. Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello. I’m cool now.”
Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51. Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”
“But I have work to do today. Tax reports need –”
“Time is not linear, Ken. So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.
I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.