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.
“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:)
As some of you may know I’ve been seeing and talking to the dead since I survived a NDE at age 4. Since my visit to the other I gained an ability to see and speak to those on the dearly departed. This is a very special tribute, directed by Robin Williams’ spirit, or at least the very much alive spirit of Robin’s that lives in my heart.
Many times, throughout my whole life when a major figure dies, I get paid a visit. It’s happened with Marilyn, Elvis, MJ and Abe Lincoln’s powerful spirits. Abe’s becoming a 2009 hit web series on YouTube ABE LINCOLN IS BACK. It’s only recently I’ve accepted all this as more than my vivid imagination.
ADDED AUGUST 18, 2014
PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51
By Ken Sheetz
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 in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991. 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 along the way that 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.
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 say. “You in there, buddy?”
“Psst, keep your voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then 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 I see as a 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 and more and more. My father’s 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? Sorry. Wow. What a rotten way to start a Monday.”
I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my face, tender to the touch. This virtual world is a well organized 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,” I groan.
“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” urges Robin, helping me to my feet.
Looking 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. 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 last night. Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.”
“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
“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 a 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 am 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 who has not spoken to me in 3 years, ” 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. Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, I hope you’ll finish your LA life and join me in Sedona some day. Don’t forget Ohom says you are my perfect mate.” The giant blue whale vanishes.
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 my spirit daughter Elizabeth 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.
RIP ROBIN WILLIAMS 1951-2014
AUGUST 15, 2014
I am at a local coffee shop called Bad Kitty in Sedona and the spirit of Robin Williams has dropped for an interview!
ROBIN: Hi world. It’s me, Robin. Or least Ken’s memory pattern of me. You decide!
KEN: Robin, great directing me in the spoof poster (left) yesterday. You’ve still got the magic touch.
ROBIN: Thanks, Sheetzy! Nice colab. I promise to keep haunting your ass!
KEN: Some people are saying you’re in hell. Was the poster a message you’re really in heaven?
ROBIN: Hell no! There is no heaven or hell. I was in heaven. That’s what earth is. Tell you a secret, Sheetzo…
KEN: What, Robin?
ROBIN: I collabed with you on the poster as an FU to that slob Limbaugh! What a waste of radio waves that fat jerk is!
KEN: I love the poster even more then, Robin.
ROBIN: Enough about super-losers like, Rush. I want to say something to my wife; Oh, Suzie Q, I am so damn sorry, baby. We’ve been on so many great trips but this was one I had to go solo on, darlin’. I want you to know I am always with you, honey lamb.
KEN: Aw, Robin, hard for me to type through the tears.
ROBIN: Buck up, Sheetz! I need to say something to my kids.
KEN: Of course. Go ahead, Robin.
ROBIN: Zelda, Zak, Cody, oh, how I miss you all. If it helps, my leaving has ended my pain. It’s kind of like WHAT DREAMS MAY COME over here only no hell. You can eat almost anything. Feels very light headed over here. No judging jerks. I’m viewed no different for dying of depression that someone dying of cancer. Ain’t that cheery?! Ha! — So no rushing in to save me because there’s nothing to save me from. I live on in your hearts. You know that and it makes me glad. Makes me so proud of you, my ZZCs. Please tell your poor mom I am more than sorry it never worked out of us. But we made you and that’s always going to be our best thing we both ever did in life. M put up with my high highs and low low lows for a long time. She deserves a freaking super hero medal!
Robin sits quietly across from me drinking in the sweet Sedona energy and nods to add…
ROBIN: To my fans, I miss being alive! To live, ah the good times we had. I felt your love for so long. Feel it still here where I am munching on a hedge. I know some part of me lives, the silliest and best part of me, on and on your hearts too. Maybe too much. Take it easy. I was just a comedian, a trickster, for Christ’s sake. Please, don’t follow my lead. Get help when you get too blue. Hey that’s a poem. Ok, Ken, thanks for this, fantasy or reality, who gives a nano of a nanoo!
KEN: My honor and pleasure. Where you off to, Robin?
ROBIN: Got an appointment with a flock pigeons.
ROBIN: Yep. Guiding the flock to poo all over Rush Limbaugh’s freshly washed car! Ciao, all! Muaah! Muaah! Muaah!
Robin vanishes from the chair. The sound of a flock of pigeons fluttering off with Robin as I finish my coffee with a chuckle. Well, friends, you deicide if my encounters with the spirit of Robin Williams are real or not. You see, I’m not really sure myself. Typical me if you follow my work. I’ll never be 100% sure of my gifts I see. But I now see that not-sureness is a gift that keeps me humble and grounded in the real world. My unsureness is a tether to keep me on this side. Yes, I’m just happy to be half way sure these days after a lifetime of suppressing my psychic gifts.
AUGUST 16, 2014
I work early this Saturday morning and rolled over in my bed to see what the day was going to be like. There, on the pillow beside me, was the spirit of Robin Williams starring me in face with big grin.
Robin said, “Gotta do something about your snoring of, Sheetzo, or you’ll never get laid again!”
I laughed, overjoyed to see Robin was looking young and spry like his “Mork and Mindy” days.
“Let’s do a meditation. The guys on this side say you rock the cosmos for a human,” said Robin sounding a bit anxious I might decline.
“Absolutely! Close your eyes, Robin,” I said.
“Do I still have eyes to close?” said Robin slapping his cheeks. “Okay, felt that. Here goes.” and Robin and I closed our eyes in unison.
“Hang on. We need to leave the planet for this one. I need lots of space,” I said confidently. Robin groped the bed sheets for my hand. “Watch it, Robin. That’s not my hand!”
“Don’t blame me, Sheetz-a-rama. You said to close my eyes before we got all touchy feely!” said Robin with a chuckle.
Finally Robin and I managed to clasp hands. They were hairy hands. Strong. “Ease up on the grip, Robin. You won’t fall.”
As I said this we rocketed through the roof of the troublesome but beautiful place I rent in Sedona. Robin screamed in that hilarious way he has in so many movies in genuine shock, no acting here.
Soon we was broke free of earth’s atmosphere. I gazed at the sun and flew for at five times the speed of light. “You’re heading for the sun! We’ll be burnt alive. Oh wait. I’m dead… Proceed, Sheetzy!”
A black square opened in the face of the sun. “Potal. Hang on, Robin!”
Robin screamed like a banshee as we rocketed one million times the speed of light down a worm hole. I’ve done this before over countless lives I could now recall and simply yawned.
We shot from the worm hole and were surrounded by total blackness. Robin kept screaming while I patiently waited for him to chill like me.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Total nothingness! Where the heck are we, Mr. Sheetz!” shouted Robin.
“Right where we need to be, outside our universe. I said we needed space. Didn’t I?” I said calmly to Robin,
“You didn’t say EMPTY space!” said Robin, so freaked out he’d forgotten he was dead as I scanned his mind with mine. Which was a good thing. I wanted that for him.
“Okay, are we done freaking out now, Robin? Let’s do some magic. Look closer at the darkness. See? It’s filled with energy,” I said as now bright splotches of every color of the rainbow, densely dotted the infinity around us.
Robin calmed and whistled in excitement.
“Now, concentrate. Let’s pulls all this light and energy to us.” I said holding forth my hands. Robin copied my hand gestures. Colors, of a spectrum far greater than the human eye can see, stretched for us and began filling Robin and I with light and energy.
Soon a ball of light was all about Robin and me and he said, “Wow. What the heck are we doing, Ken?”
“Watch.” I said a bit amazed I knew exactly what I was doing as effortlessly as making a morning coffee.
The ball of light became a world. Not your typical world but a world filled with a huge green hedge of mazes that circled the globe. I willed a large plaza to form on the surface.
Stellar gasses ignited and the maze world saw its first sunrise. Robin’s mouth hung open in childlike wonder. And before he could ask another question I willed us into the plaza. Birds sang in the dawn light.
Robin opened his mouth to speak. I held a finger to my lips for him to be silent. A young woman with daisies in her hair exited a section of the vibrant lush maze hedge.
Tears poured from Robin’s cheeks as he dashed across the carpet of flowers and grass for the young woman shouting, “Zelda! Oh Zelda!”
Robin and his daughter met in loving embrace in the middle of the plaza. Now Robin’s sons Zak and Cody, his wife Susan and ex-wife Marsha ran from various maze points and joined the joyous reunion. More family and friends, some very famous, joined the growing throng of love.
No one remembered Robin was dead, not even Robin. All that existed was love outside the boundaries of time and space and deep sense of reunion. This was our gift to Robin, me and Ohom my higher ET self. Ohom let me do all this. The very first solo use of manifesting powers at this level to create this planetary maze for an amazing world of peace and love. A fresh new world for Robin and all who love him.
Millions of fans of Robin were streaming from the maze exits and I willed the biggest stadium ever in existence into reality. A stage of paradox with millions of people who all had front row seats to watch Robin reunite with his current family, his long dead family and those yet to be born, into infinity.
The audience began to chant, “Robin, Robin, Robin!” Robin seated his family on the stage and took a microphone I gave him. More and more stars were appearing in the sky above us which had no atmosphere. We had no need for air here. Not while a new universe was being born.
A spotlight from the top of a maze hedge lit up Robin, sporting a rainbow-colored shirt and silver baggy pants.
In my home back in Sedona I was no longer me. I was gone. I was Robin and I chose to sit on the edge of the stage, which was also the edge of my bed. Everyone’s love for me was overwhelming. I, Robin Williams, the man who had a wisecrack for everything, was speechless.
My microphone began to glow with a golden white light. I pulled it to my lips, but no words came. So I said to myself, “Go with it! Mime time!”
I floated above the love gathering. So much love! I released a billion white butterflies of light, one for everyone here on planet maze. Laughter and applause echoed through the new universe. Robin beamed a bright smile and resisted words to the end, just soaking in all the love and light.
I opened my eyes in Sedona. Ken again. And proceed to the kitchen, light as feather, to make coffee and started my Saturday with my guest Genevieve and Hanny, who were here to take a visit to Angel Valley with me today to walk the labyrinth for a http://dreamshield.org/ meditation. A meditation that turned out to be the conclusion to a planetary meditation I’d stated in 2011 in Nashville to end addiction on the earth. I felt Robin with me in the maze whenever I goofed around.
A fitting thing on a day when I hope I helped Robin’s spirit find peace and he helped me in ending addiction that’s torn apart of father and brother. Hoping it was enough to help him on his way and give peace to his loved ones. And hoping that Robin won’t be waking me up in my bed ever again!
SUICIDE AND THE AFTERLIFE
There’s been a lot of judging by the religious of Robin’s needing to end his life. On Friday I unfriended a religious person who reacted vehemently to my poster I did for and with Robin. The reason being they could not let go of judging Robin as unworthy of heaven. I let this pass for the first round of comments but then they returned with a snide inappropriate comment. I don’t mind some healthy debate in the proper forum, but I could see my modern paradoxical way of thinking was only agitating this good person so I ended the FB friendship.
That FB thread is not a place I choose to tolerate old belief system judgments or any kind of wisecracking that’s Rush Limbaugh-like in it’s level arrogance about matters none of us really know about. The religious are free to have their opinions on my pages as long as they acknowledge they don’t really have the answers and operate in mutual respect here. Probably it is unrealistic of me to expect that of the religious minded as they are locked into the old ways with years of mental conditioning. Still I send the person I unfriended here in the middle of the night love as send them on their way. Indeed, my modern beliefs more closely follow those of my friend Dannion Brinkley, who has survived many near deaths and seen the other side. Dannion told me in after a 2012 interview I did of him, wish I had that part on camera, that there is no shaming or special penalties for suicide victims in the afterlife.
However, suicide does, according to Dannion, and all we know is no one really knows, mean you must relive your life over again after a nice rest and repeat the lessons of your karma. That’s a lot of incentive not to take your own life. I sure wouldn’t want to repeat my past again. But Dannion says sometimes a soul like Robin’s simply becomes too overwhelmed with pain and they use their free right to end their own suffering. And of course the hardest part of it all is the pain suicide inflicts on those left behind. In Robin’s case he left children and a wonderful wife behind who are suffering terribly. His pain had to be enormous to take the exit door.
Robin’s depression was paralyzing for him to not to be able to avoid inflicting such pain on his loved ones. If there is a heaven – and, again, no one really knows in fact if there is or is not, despite what some religious people are preaching as they judge suicide Robin’s crime as punishable by an eternity of hell – in Dannion’s viewings of the after life he saw, no one takes the hardline and judges suicide as evil. Indeed, the suicidal depression that killed Robin is viewed in the afterlife Dannion saw as being no different, and with no less love and compassion, than is given for someone dying of plane crash.
I like that. It fits my intuitive belief of life a universe like the animal kingdom of non-judgement. We are the only shaming species. In fact Dannion says there is no hell at all. What does happen is you have a past life review and must relive your life through the eyes of those you caused to suffer before you can go onto the next life to relive your karma. So if you murdered someone, for an awful example, you are going to suffer that murder yourself and feel what it was like to be killed by your old self. Robin’s case is special. Applying Dannion’s beliefs, Robin, so connected to so many who loved him will be reliving millions of lives of hurt fans he left behind in addition to his close friends and family’s lives. That’s going to be long and painful journey for Robin, if Dannion has it right. But Dannion explains that’s why time is eternal and non-linear.
Well, an amazing thing is happening with Robin’s passing. For the first time talk of suicide is in the open. In the end that’s healthy for us all. My wish for Robin is that he gets to live that next life without the manic depression illness that caused him so much pain it led to all his addictions and yet that he – or she as the case may be next go around – still be as brilliant an entertainer.
I’ll keep you posted about more encounters with ETs, the dead, Gods and Goddesses, right here. Bottom line, there’s way more to the universe than what we can see and touch.
HOW MY PSYCHIC GIFTS HAPPENED
Here’s my video about how I got my gifts to see more than the average bear.
“Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” – Mathew 19:24
By Ken Sheetz
The rich 1% are victims of the system like the rest of us. I know this from being a rich man in the 80s myself. At age 37 I was worth about $12 million back in 1989. Or about $30 million in 2012 dollars. So I was on that lower end scale of the 1%. A poor rich man.
The level of work and dedication needed to build and maintain wealth is staggering. It left me with no personal life, a neglected wife and two neglected kids. My clients like Oprah and my Chicago skyscraper I was building had far more of my love and attention. That’s where the money was. My family was far down my list.
What was driving me? Lack of self-worth. I felt the more money I made the more I could fill the void. A void created by our society. A shared lie.
Is there some cabal of evil people creating this shared lie? No. Just some overachievers trying to make their meaningless life of the pursuit of money have meaning, like I used to do.
I did not choose to leave Mt. Olympus to seek these answers. The worst commercial real estate crash in history gave me the boot from money paradise. I lost over $80 million for me and my investors. To protect the family assets from the bankers we, legally and totally above-board, put everything we could into my wife’s name. Then she divorced me and kept it all. I left the marriage with the clothes on my back and a paperweight globe of the world I took from the living room curio.
I went into a dark depression that carried me to the shores of Lake Michigan, contemplating suicide one winter night in ’92. Alone and only getting to see my estranged kids, 10 and 13, who remain estranged some 20 years later, just every other weekend. I felt no one would miss me if I stepped off the snowy rock into the icy lake. I braced myself for the jump to my death.
But something stopped me. A voice of reason within said, “Let your old life die here, Ken. Begin a new life.” And I turned from the icy shore, got in my car and began my life over.
I still had my rep as Chicago’s 1987 broker of the year and the builder of Harpo Studios. I still had my wealthy business friends who owned half of Chicago. I still had all my creative gifts of great taste and style from my education as an interior architect. I still had my 40-year-old body, though in bad shape from lack of exercise I could rebuild that body.
Unfortunately I still had a low self-esteem from abused childhood. It still haunts me and thwarts my efforts to have a mate. I lack an ability to trust and a overreact to simple give and take in relationship. Far less than I used to but I accept some part of me asked to be this way for my work. A
I pledge to make this an amazing year for fans of my work. I have found myself and love me for who I am. Took me to 61 to get here. I live my BFA now. I live as an artist of film and the web. It’s not been easy getting here. I have had a lot of help from family and friends who bankrolled my film career that began at 40 when I walked away from the easy money of real estate.
It’s all converging now in my new home in Sedona I am renting. I have an amazing housemate I adore but the feeling is not mutual. But we are using this non-romantic relationship to grow further. I am learning to be less controlling, less angry, less manipulative and she is learning from me wealth attraction and managed anger. We call this home nestled at the foot of Chimney Rock the Green Sanctuary. At least this is how I see things. My housemate likely sees things as totally different. Perhaps that I am something of a jerk.
Most important in Sedona, my silly personal life aside, there’s much work to be done in 2014 helping great men like G Patrick Flanagan get his inventions that have helped me reach this new level of awareness and health and reverse aging.
I’ve even begun thinking when I am 37 again, the age I love me most at, of marrying and having kids and doing it all right this time. Family first. I will not be a slave to the lies of meaningless wealth accumulation. Not to say I will not become more wealthy than ever. But I will keep only what I need and enjoy and give back to help balance and save this precious world. And if not in this life, I am ready for the next.
So forget the conspiracy theories about the nine families seeking to poison and wreck the same world they share with the rest of us. Greed is the enemy, not the rich being manipulated by it. We need to rise above it all. To seek together all of rich and poor alike a new paradigm based on love for each other. It’s really about taking action and not just thinking it will happen. It’s about thinking and doing.
And what I am doing for Dr. Flanagan right now is building a crowd funder to make this a smarter world with his amazing Neurophone. Click the link to join the pre-launch and learn how he is making the world a smarter place.