 “THE MAGIC OF MANIFESTING”© Copyright 3-30-2007 By Dana Shino, The Purple Phoenix, LLC www.thepurplephoenix.com To tell this story, I must start in the middle, front and rear simultaneously (just like time is all one... because it is). Bear with me. It’s worth it. Enter three items and two people: one starfish imprinted ceramic disc with a wide peach gauze ribbon; one cherry wood framed, black matted photograph of a deep red Hibiscus (about two by three feet); one set of IKEA Poang chairs and footrests; and my Grandmother and Grandfather Newby. The starfish imprinted ceramic disc hung in my Grandmother Newby's dining area for years, adjacent the windows looking out to her patio where in summer, Morning Glories bloomed, and in winter, central Indiana snow collected. The disc was hand made, sand colored and sized the circumference of your outstretched hand. Grandmother strung a red ribbon through the small hole at its top, tying and hanging it. When she and Grandfather Newby were moved to an assisted living facility in the summer of 2004, both later dying respectively in the spring and summer of 2005, pieces from their estate filtered down to the grandchildren. The ceramic disc imprinted with the starfish was given to me. I removed the red ribbon and replaced it with the peach gauze ribbon. It traveled with me through my moves to Durango, Colorado. I photographed the red Hibiscus in Taiwan in 1991 when I visited there during an International 4-H Youth Exchange trip. Tony Lin, my host father, grew the Hibiscus in his garden where he and I held long, halting philosophical discussions (as much as his English could bear). One day, Tony said to me, “Dana, look you like my sister.” It’s one of the nicest compliments anyone has ever paid me. I gifted the framed photograph to my Grandmother and Grandfather Newby for Christmas that same year. The photograph of the red Hibiscus hung over the piano in their living room where, when our family visited, I used to play the piano for Grandfather long before the red Hibiscus was ever there. Though he couldn’t carry a tune worth squat, he loved tapping out the rhythms while I attempted Scott Joplin and Methodist hymns. Like the ceramic piece, the framed red Hibiscus was also re-given to me. This was not small as I had lost the majority of my photography collection, including my Taiwan photos, to the 1997 Fort Collins, Colorado flood. The red Hibiscus also traveled with me to Durango. Both of my grandparents were larger than life to me, though I grew up more than 1,000 miles from them. As a young man, Grandfather Newby built roads in central Illinois. As a young woman, Grandmother Newby left her family’s southern Indiana farm and eventually graduated magna cum laude from Indiana University in the sciences in the middle of the Depression. Both my grandparents survived the Depression and met and married during World War II. During the war, Grandfather trained Army units stateside until he was shipped to Europe where he fought in and survived the Battle of the Bulge. After the war, my grandparents returned to Brownsburg, Indiana, where they raised two girls and became an integral part of the community for the better part of sixty years. Grandfather built and sold homes (while wheeling and dealing in a half dozen other things through his life), despite only a sixth grade education. He could roar like a lion, tease un-mercilessly, yet give with a genuine heart of gold. Grandmother kept the house, the books and was instrumental within the Methodist Church and the school board. Though she never fully used her educational merit, her intellectual prowess paired with her lifetime wonder and curiosity for the world she lived in was never lost on all her grandchildren. My grandparents were part of what is now called the Greatest Generation. So, in late fall 2006, I still possessed the framed red Hibiscus and the ceramic disc imprinted with a starfish when all my things began to ‘speak’ to me (See my humorous account: “Twas the Night ‘Fore Thanksgiving”). As I gradually and systematically checked each item in my home, it became clear to me the ceramic disc and red Hibiscus were among the pieces I needed to let go. Despite their ties, and perhaps because of their ties, these pieces held energies I could no longer carry with me along my current path. I delivered them with boxes of other things to the local Humane Society Thrift Store during the holidays. This now brings us to the third item, the IKEA chair and foot rest sets. In late February 2007, I stood in my living room looking at them. Even though I loved the beautiful curve of their beech wood and their blue printed fabric; even though Spirit had gifted them to me (a wondrous garage sale find) during my divorce in Fort Collins, Colorado; even though these chairs were part of my reprieve in the San Luis Valley; even though they were my first nice pieces of furniture ever; even though they were light enough I could single-handedly carry them myself; even though... I knew it was time to let them go. I had curiously discovered (through the subtle sledge hammer of awakening) I was not able to completely relax in these chairs: they always kept me upright, always kept me rigid. I realized I had not allowed myself one single place in my home (other than my bed), where I could relax. I mentally traced this pattern back through my marriage, my singles days, college and even to the home I grew up in. (Mom cut our 1960’s blazing orange boat sized family couch in half, reupholstering it in solid rose color and floral prints. Napping on one of the sets now required flinging your legs over the arms or tucking your legs beneath your chin.) So, I committed to both creating relaxation space in my home as well as trusting I could anchor myself in Durango with a couch, coming to a rest for the first time since my upheaval over three years ago. One Saturday morning, I spent the better part of a morning cruising furniture stores along Farmington, New Mexico’s retail alley perplexing some of the sales people with my unfiltered, spontaneous psychic opinions about their couches. I reiterated the comments from one impertinently prim and pretty couch bleating at me, “Welcome to our home. Please sit here. Now get out!” A nearby customer spontaneously combusted into belly laughter from the comment. The salesman was not pleased, rushing to describe the benefits of the high quality steel frame of said beautiful and really uncomfortable couch. I moved on, finally selecting a sage colored couch. It is the epitome of relaxation: full length, comfy cushions with the right firmness gauge, and built in recliners on either end. The movers were scheduled to deliver my new couch in three weeks, so, it was ‘bye-bye’ time for the IKEA chairs. In the spirit of manifesting, I told my Spirit Guides, “I am selling these IKEA chair sets before the couch is delivered and here is my sales price.” Over the weeks, I placed an ad in the local paper and emailed my local Durango network. But even for the interest, the IKEA chairs and their footrests continued to sit, unassumingly, in my living room. Occasionally, I’d reiterate my manifesting intent to my Spirit Guides. Couch delivery morning arrived and the IKEA chair sets were still in my living room. I sighed, believing my manifesting muscle was defunct. I resigned myself to delivering the IKEA chair sets to Habitat for Humanity and cleared space for the new couch. After the flurry and excitement of the new couch delivery, I half heartedly loaded the IKEA chair sets in my truck bed during a break in the rain and drove downtown to the Habitat store. After parking in the lot, I retrieved a chair from the truck bed and walked to the door. As I approached, a woman leaving the store held the door for me and asked if I’d sell her the chair. I paused, not quite registering her offer. She repeated herself and ten minutes later I was helping her load one chair and foot rest in her vehicle with a check in my pocket for my asking price! Although she’d only wanted part of the set, I was willing to play. After the sale, she told me of another store that would buy the remaining chair and foot rest outright or give me store credit. Delighted, in a baffled kind of way, I drove to “Reruns” and dickered with the owner (who just happened to be there, usually only taking items on appointment). We quickly came to an agreement on price and, voila, I had store credit. So, on a rainy, Friday afternoon in Durango, Colorado, I happily browsed, pleased with the uncanny turn of events. I rounded the corner from one room to the next, sorted through throw rugs and then looked up. There, hanging on the wall, staring back at me was my Taiwan Red Hibiscus. Moments later, another customer, knowing I was looking for star shaped items, pulled me aside, pulled back a fabric swag, and there was my Grandmother Newby’s ceramic imprinted with the star fish. I was speechless and near tears. My grandparents were saying hello. A week later, after much thought, I returned to the store and purchased my items, reclaiming them, feeling an odd mixture of humility and triumphant resurrection. When I returned home with the pieces and stood with them in my office feeling their energies, I realized their hidden journey had altered them. They were energetically different pieces from the ones I had let go of months before. As I held the starfish in my hands, and for only the third time since she crossed over, my Grandmother Newby visited me, filling her presence in white and gold filtering light. When her energies and my tears cleared, I looked down. The bag the clerk had wrapped the starfish in held a store phrase: “Helping make your life easier.”  Your contributions help support The Purple Phoenix Press.
|
|
Send an Email to The Purple Phoenix
|
[Close window]