Kansas City Lost Passport

Kansas City Lost Passport


June 2013

“Your book is the best I have read, and I do read this subject.

Simple, covers all the bases with humour and clarity. Great job! Great resource and I thought I was ‘done’–not quite it seems, so thanks.”

Do Not Pass Go Without a Passport: The 1-2-3 basics of Manifesting taught by Ken Elliott, and mastered in a crash course late one afternoon at the Kansas City Airport.

We flew in from Canada and attended a conference in Kansas City, the Children of Light Conference, organized by the amazing and humble guy who speaks with Angels in his home, Joe Crane.  Now that the conference was over, we We’re leaving the hotel to catch our airport shuttle at 10 AM. I noticed I didn’t have my passport. My husband Ted said he saw it on the desk in the room–and likely the maids scooped it up with the coffee making wrappings, also black and the desk was also a black top. So… he got them to look around, in garbage, in lost and found. Asked at the desk. Nope. No trace.

I did a redo of my belongings, nope. No trace.

I said to Ted, OK, we are going to manifest a solution. After his look about with the maids, he was ‘not amused’. He fairly shouted, “Don’t PATRONIZE ME!”

I said, “I am not, I believe that.”

We proceeded to get ready, and close up the room and take back the keys and greet and say goodbye to all the folks we knew in the lobby. Ken Elliott, who had taught a very succinct course mere days ago called, Manifesting 1-2-3– was on his ipad and looked up. I said, “Quick request Ken….Can you work with me to manifest a passport?”

Ken said, “You don’t have yours?”

“No. I’m Missing it, but a solution is coming in”.

“Ken said “I am sending this up to the highest level”. He was pointing UP with conviction. It reassured me.

Ken suggested that I see myself safely in Canada and that everything worked out with the passport.

He asked that on my return, I write up the story about how the passport was found.

My story begins:

Ken….With a little help from ‘friends in high places’ and a precise knowing about ‘the law.’…embedding an add-on level of belief  sprung forth from your concise talk…. My belief a solution was ‘coming’ was pretty firm and unshakeable. This allowed #3–(from the book Ken wrote, Manifesting 1-2-3 ) a remarkable ‘just in time’ delivery system that was chock a block full of delicious detail I could never have put into a script. My passport was found and put back into my ever so grateful hands with the gleeful, and awe-on looking of my ever so concerned and due diligent, husband Ted, (who covered all the bases to fill out the script.)

While I walked along thinking about my lost passport….I am going with the flow It is what it is….and all is well, whether it appears to be or not. What’s the worse the can happen? Just a bit of ‘time’ and money…

We were last night consorting with angels and they are still palpably all around us as we walk…

All is well! All is indeed well. Thanks for taking time to look up when I walked over with a request for assistance…. and assuring me…. “This will go to the very highest level…. with the pointer finger pointing UP! Our solution was provided at the highest level. I won’t forget, and you can enjoy this story of manifesting from one of your ‘students’ who just graduated from the school of hard knocks….to one of easeful attainment….of well….whatever is in the movie!

With the highest gratitude appreciation and love,
Emily and Ted
Safely back in Halifax, Nova Scotia.

The full story:

To fill in the scripted pre resolution drama details I will confess that when we arrived into the Kansas City Airport delayed by an hour by a faulty switch repair, I was dismayed and disheartened by a 2 hour wait for our hotel shuttle. I watched other hotel shuttles come and go and just wanted the day long journey to be ended. Added to the journey was a wake up at 3 am, totally unnecessary because departure was at 10:20—but I Did Not Want to Miss the Plane to the Kansas City Children of Light Conference. So you can see, it was a long, tiring day. Followed by another long, tiring wait.

Now… I recall… putting down the black bag containing my passport on the bench and taking out my ipad to check emails. I was also scanning the shuttles and trying to coerce my husband to take another shuttle or taxi, but he was committed to the Ramada Shuttle after telephoning and engaging their services. I am a lateral thinker, and believed if a thing is not working, try something else. After all, we could call Ramada and cancel. So, I was a little put out to have to sit way past meal time and await the tardy, and as it turned out, way overworked shuttle dealing with around 150 conferencers.

When Ted finally spotted the shuttle and we hustled over to get it, I forgot all about the black bag on the bench and rushed out the airport doors to scoot over to the white bus with blue lettered RAMADA INN. The end was here. Relief.

Arriving at our destination on Universal Avenue, getting the key, paying for the four days stay, jigging with the slide in the door slot plastic key, required too much time and worn out patience. When finally in the room, I did not even miss my black bag with passport. We were so busy with so many speakers and musicians and meet-ups with like minded people I never once took time to think of the precious passport which was key to leaving but totally unremembered until the final hours of departure when Ted said, “Oh, here is my passport, as he checked his fanny pack pouch for the umpteenth time to make sure. Where did you put yours?”

“Good question”, I said, as I looked in my two larger bags where I sometimes on other trips put the blue document. Not there. I scoured the pockets of my purse.. Not there either. The pit of my stomach lurched. I was not looking forward to saying what appeared inevitable,

‘Honey, my passport is missing”.

Having admitted to this negligence I steadied for the repercussions. “What? You don’t have YOUR passport? Well, did you look…..Did you take out your……Let me look…..The last time I saw your passport it was on the desk here. I will go see the maid and ask at the front desk.”

I was hopeful. This course of action produced nothing. We proceeded to disembark from our room, and the hotel.

Getting to the airport Courtesy Desk, we heard we should go to Customs. Although the two Customs and Security agents at the cubicle were friendly and helpful, nothing turned up as a solution there. But Ted went throught the motions until that became clear. While Ted spoke with taller of the two, a red-haired jovial young man, I replied to the questions of the other agent, a handsome, dark haired, 40ish aged fellow with concern clearly etched in his open face. “So what were you doing here?” he asked.

I debated whether to tell Homeland Security and Customs agents that we came to consort with angels, I quickly decided to ‘just do it’ and gave forth. “Well”, I said, “You know these are extraordinary times. They are like when Jesus walked the earth and He spoke with Angels. All our systems are dysfunctional. We have constant and persistent wars. We need changes and lots of them. So we came to meditate  and raise the energy within our group and within this area and then the rest of the world. People are that powerful. I know that might sound preposterous, but that’s why we came here and that’s what I know we did. Lots of changes are set up to happen, and pretty soon too.”

He gave me a look that confirmed to me he was at least partly on board with me. “I neither believe nor disbelieve you” he replied honestly. “My daughter used to tell us that she saw Angels. The thing is that kids beliefs get drowned out by other stuff and they forget. I know she is really different, but I don’t know how to speak to her about anything like that now. Heck, I don’t even know how to speak to my wife about it. I read Eckhart Tolle and I meditate as much as I can. But how do I go from there. What do I do with what I read? How do I speak about it?”

“Well”, I offered. “Your daughter saw Angels and you can ask her if she remembers telling you that. Start off there and keep going, little by little just work at it. When I started talking about what I was reading, my husband said, “I don’t want to hear about that stuff.” I told him I listened to him for years about a lot that I didnt’ want to hear. It was time for him to listen to me. Five minutes here, twenty there, and later an hour. It built until now here he is listening to a guy who speaks to Angels in his house; who receives information to heal humanity. You just begin and don’t stop. Same with meditation. Do as much as you can when you find time.” I feel like being regular is good.”

“It is. I used to meditate morning and evening.”

Ted, now freed from futility with an answering machine instead of a person at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago, — chimed in, “Yes, she’s been at that a long time. Must be thirty years or more now. Always kept at it.”

“Kansas City has lots of places like the Organic Cafe, where people discuss such things as spiritual conferences. Go there in your spare time. Meet some like minded people and find out where they go and do. Just start small, and keep going.”

The red headed guy had overheard our conversation and asked if the wife would be ticked off if he asked me if it was OK to pray someplace besides Church. Ted answered, “Yes. You can pray anywhere. Church is not the key, the praying is. And meditating. And being peaceful”

Before we left I offered to send him some stuff to follow up if he would give me his email, which he did.

“I won’t harass you”, I promised.

After writing  down his name @ DHS.Gov he said, “Maybe you guys lost the passport so you could come over here and tell us about all this stuff. What about that?”

“You never know what’s really going on. We are not here alone, even though it looks like we are. So we don’t get too excited when stuff happens. Its all good. Thanks for everything, we have no complaints, is our motto, most of the time–we slip up a bit.”

“Well, good luck you guys. Take care.”

“Nice talking to you. Thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch.”

We caught the shuttle back to the airport. Reaching the United Airlines and Air Canada desk, another fresh faced, red haired man, Scott, asked what he could do for us.

Ted explained that Customs had mentioned that there is always a manifest that would contain the numbers and information from the passports on which we travelled into the country. Could he call Air Canada and get that  and use it instead of the passport? Scott said on a Sunday that would not be possible, and we would still need the document to enter Canada.

We had been told by Customs that we had two choices. One would be to fly to Chicago to access the Canadian Consulate and wait two days for a new passport. The other was to fly to Buffalo, catch a bus and cross the Border into Canada to Toronto and on from there to Halifax. The lesser trouble was the second option and it was appearing as though this would be necessary. Although Scott expressed concern and sympathy for us, he could do nothing but offer his voice to our own that all this was really not necessary, except for the event of 911, which changed everything.

I checked my purse and carry on one more time for the missing item, thinking a miracle might have occurred, never know unless you check, and then walked over to a lovely African American woman, with arthritic knuckles and a kind face, who also expressed concern and efficiently gave the departure time to Buffalo for me. I had assured Ted it was best for just one of us to make the trip by bus across to Toronto. I purchased my ticket and Ted went back to Scott to get his Air Canada ticket for departure at 4:20, two hours after I would leave to Buffalo via Cleveland arriving at 9:30 that evening. A somewhat daunting realization, but doable, I thought. Doable.

I headed to the washroom. Ted also went to men’s washroom, after looking after the two luggage items amid the repetitious announcement about putting gels and liquids in the see through plastic bag for inspection. This announcement was underlining my imminent departure for a long journey, unsolicited and uncomfortable, but….doable .I was still in a “All is well, just delayed mode of operation. but I must say I was beginning to drift a bit downward in consciousness from where I had been.

Ted announced he was going to check in our two bags. I took out my pajamas, toothbrush and a change of clothing and put it into my carry-on bag, grateful the new purchase was able to handle the additional items.  I was thinking, with just half hour to my boarding that was not the right time for him to check in luggage, but didn’t argue the point. Off he went for a last visit with Scott before our goodbye. It occurred to me I would proceed to the food kiosk to save some time. I went close to Scott’s desk to inform Ted. Scott hailed me.

“Mrs. _____, I made out two new tickets for Buffalo. I can’t do much, but I can at least assure you have better seats.” he said, passing me two new boarding tickets.

“Thanks so much Scott,” I said, thinking, what a sweet young man, and I was touched and grateful for his thoughtfulness, and told him so.

We turned and proceeded to the lunch counter. Ordered a sausage flatbread without the cheese. I asked if I could help myself to the iced water on the nearby counter, not wanting to wait for her to finish up her other customers and return. I proceeded to pour myself a tall glass of water, overhearing Ted say, in response to her, “I’ll get it for you,” explaining my self serve mode, “Oh, she’s like that!”

Soon I had the Styrofoam container in hand, and Ted having paid with plastic, we exited and began our goodbyes just outside the dining area. Ted, with tears in his eyes, “I wish I didn’t have to leave you alone to do this”, he said.

“It will be fine”, I said. “Just a little longer–don’t worry about me.”

“Call when you get there tonight. Here take the charger for the cell phone. You might run out.”

Just then we heard our names being called, and looked back to see Scott running towards us. “I just heard back from the Police and they have your bag and passport. Did you lose a bag too?”

“No, I didn’t”, I said, with complete amnesia about the bag. Are you sure this passport is mine?”

“It has your name on it. Maybe it was with someone else’s bag. Here is the ID number. You have to go over and sign for it. You have time to do it, its not far. Take  the shuttle. They come every ten minutes. I will cancel your flight to Buffalo and refund your money.”

Ted and I both gave each other and Scott a look that said it all. Ted gave Scott a big hug. And off we went on another shuttle trip around the circle. Midway we stopped at a huge pile of luggage beside a distraught looking Mom with a baby in a car seat and a umbrella stroller. She looked plaintively at the bus driver.

“They dropped me at the wrong place. Can you get me to the depot?”

The bus driver, who was sitting directly in front of me looked blank for a bit, when Ted sprang into action, saying, “I can help her get  onto the bus.” as he moved toward the front.

“It will have to go onto the back” he said, as he closed the doors and began a slow move to get the back of the bus next to her luggage, Ted moved to the rear and began to pick up the bags, as another young man assisted with a quick jump down the stairs and a smile. Soon the pile was neatly stowed away and mother and child were seated. The baby had a straw Charlie Chaplin hat. “Nice hat ‘the young man commented. I looked at it and said so too. He was so darn cute, I was glad he and his Mom got a lift immediately.

I had to recheck that the driver remembered we were going to the Police,  Yes, he said, no problems. It was apparent that this driver was keeping it all straight, amid the constant chatter, clatter, beeping to move stalling cars awaiting pick ups. He was a heroic figure, truly attending his duty, not being rude at questions that appear to belie his attention span. I am again, very grateful, and thank him.

Around the next bend we disembark for the station. Two policemen, a male and a female officer are going inside by voice activated intercom system. They let us in the first door and direct me to pick up the phone and speak my request of entry. I tell  the ID number of the retrieved package and my name and we gain entry, directed through double doors, past a desk and up an elevator to the 3rd floor to await Sgt. K_____. The two officers from downstairs filed past. One addressed us, “Oh, they let you in did they? Just take a seat over there and make yourselves comfortable,” he directs.

I am thinking, ok, but we don’t want to be too comfortable, we still have a flight to catch and security to pass through. Time is ticking. Please hurry, but I smile and thank the officer, and we take a seat on a section of plastic black seats lined up against the far wall. I look at a pink and white carnation vase and think, how lovely to have flowers in a Police Station. Nice touch.

Five minutes or so later a tall, well built female officer, the Sgt., walks towards the desk and unfolds the brown paper bag, unstapling the fastener. I watch in fascination to see the passport emerge from a small black bag…..that belongs to….me!

I am incredulous that I had forgotten this item completely in the four days of the conference. This black bag fairly recently–travels with me for quick access to my passport presentation with boarding pass. How odd, I thought- the bag was totally blanked from my recall.

“Is this your purse?” the Sgt. asked.

I passed her the paper with the ID and say, “Yes, indeed. That is mine.”

“Sign here for it please, mam, and fill out the other information.”

Standard form for name address, and phone number. the bag is now mine and so is the precious beyond measure passport. Ted takes the bag from me and examines it, semi-incredulous too.

Later Ted says, “Do you know the brand name on the bag? Ted and I are in the habit of checking street signs, tags and other items when an auspicious event occurs, in a general mindfulness for the messages sent in code to those who are observant.

“No, I have no idea what is written on the bag. What is it?” I asked baffled that he was asking for such information at this moment in time.”

The label is Connections. I laughed. The whole of our search was about this theme. Connections were scripted for us to follow on a yellow brick road, like Dorothy to get to the Wizard of Oz. Clearly, there is nothing but love, gratitude, connections– And the Law of manifesting, as taught concisely by Ken Elliot in Manifesting 1-2-3.

You too, can manifest when you face a crisis, where time is of the essence, or you can manifest at your leisure, without pressure to produce. Either way, this information is essential to easefully, gracefully program your life to be what you wish it to be.

Don’t leave home without it. Study it. You will be very glad to learn how easy Ken makes the information with excellent stories from his own life and those of his friends who taught him to gain for himself a greater flow of money and the house of his dreams

A passport is a relatively small item, a luxurious dream home appears to be a far greater item. Find out from Ken’s book if size actually does matter. Then you too, will be a master of the details of the Law of Manifesting.

Emily and Ted from Canada

Ken Elliott

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