© Copyright 5-31-2007 By Dana Shino, The Purple Phoenix, LLC www.thepurplephoenix.com Last Fall I dreamt my Grandfather Judy stepped off an elevator into the main lobby of a hotel and hurried towards the revolving glass door exit as fast as his spindly, 91 year old legs and cane would carry him. He gripped a paper sack filled with baked goods and grinned from ear to ear as he escaped with food. Right on his tail, my Grandmother Judy chased him yelling, “Dick! Now Dick! You come back here!” Grandfather, oblivious to her, happily made a beeline for the great beyond. So, I was not surprised when I learned Tuesday he had died early that morning. He’d fallen out of bed multiple times in the night and died twenty minutes after my father put him back into bed for the last time. I’m glad my father, grandmother and mother were there when he crossed over. Though I feel some sadness about grandfather’s passing (and concern for my father), I am relieved for him as his health had been in steady decline for several years. I had already said goodbye to him in spirit some time ago. As I occasionally ‘touch in’ with him now energetically, he feels delighted in a baffled, light filled kind of way, almost as though he can’t actually believe it feels this good to be on the other side. He feels like a bird who hasn’t quite figured he can fly yet, but happy about the prospects. His new flight is wonderful after his earth bound struggles. Truth be told, however, my greatest emotion lies in fear. Not fear of the dead— fear of the living. This Sunday, a funeral gathering in northern Indiana will be held for my grandfather. I will be surrounded, for the first time in years, by most of my father’s extended family (and some of my mother’s). While I’m glad to report this is buoying my father’s spirits, it is a daunting prospect, at best, for me. Somehow, this family gathering is landing smack in the middle of the recreation of my Authentic Spiritual Swing. I could not feel more awkward and out of place than an elephant in a pink tutu standing in the middle of the funeral parlor. Until part way through yesterday, I poured all of my energies into my fears, resentments, hurts, wrongs, grievances and judgments concerning my dirty laundry with many of my family members. I projected facing off with my mother, who has difficulty embracing me, especially with my current vocation and especially since I’ve taken issue with her. I projected encountering one of my aunts who let me know a year and a half ago what a terrible person I was for shirking my responsibility as a stand up citizen and pursuing the psychic line of work. Then there is my other aunt who chewed the first aunt out for what I am doing (she’s the aunt who doesn’t recognize my existence). Then there is the uncle whom I shared a mutual respect and kindred likeness with until my divorce. He sided with my ex. Then there is the overall feeling I am disliked because I look (and act) a lot like my mother and she is not well liked. Then my cousins who tend to ignore me and shine their attention on my brother. My brother, whom I love very much, but pale in comparison too in the eyes of the rest of the family— he has a wife, two beautiful twin boys, a house and a career with GE as a physicist— not anything I can traditionally equal. And Aaron has difficulty recognizing my psychic gift from his scientific viewpoint. (Was it an accident we both are interested and heavily invested in the same field, just from opposite ends of the continuum?) And then my father, not much unlike my grandfather and my brother, who is mostly oblivious to everything except enjoying good food and good times with good people (probably wise considering present company, myself included). So, you see, I worked myself into a good frothing mouthed dither over the whole deal. My child like self still clamoring for respect, love, attention and validation. It felt so real to me, living in the middle of it, fighting in my heart and mind with them and myself. Ultimately, I felt defeated, caving in to such emotion after all the energetic spiritual work I had done. I realized it is one thing to practice spiritual light energy work in the safety of your living room, surrounded by your comforts, and entirely another to step into the field of real life and retain and practice light and love filled consciousness, especially in the original petry dish of your family. The thought of removing my protection (judgment) and standing emotionally naked in front of the firing squad (the women in my family) and energetically opening myself in this perceived hostile environment to love, light and peace, terrified me. It stripped me to my core. If it weren’t for a good dose of a light-filled wake up phone call from a wise soul, I might still be standing in those childhood shoes, helpless and staring down the barrel of the family cannon I believed was pointed at me. Once I released a good cry and loosened, pieces of my new personal Authentic Spiritual Swing began to filter in. Though I don’t golf, repeatedly I’ve been psychically reminded that rebuilding a ‘spiritual swing’ isn’t too far removed from rebuilding a golf swing (the inner game and outer game reflect one another). In 1997, after winning the Master’s Tournament for the first time at the record age of 22, Tiger Woods soon after tore down his golf swing and began rebuilding it. Woods realized in the competition that his timing won him the Master’s, but his swing was mediocre. If he was ever going to compete consistently and win at the professional level, he knew he had to rebuild his swing. During the rebuild, his game suffered. After the rebuild, with his innate, fine tuned ability (Woods can hold and toss a golf ball in his hand and tell you its weight and how it will perform on the golf course), Woods won the golf Grand Slam at the age of 24. Robert Redford directed a beautifully strong tale, “The Legends of Bagger Vance,” about faith, the natural world and how the inner self is perceived through golf. The story, set in the middle of the Depression, follows a down-on-his-luck World War I veteran, Rannulph Junuh who is loop holed into a high profile local game of golf in Savannah, Georgia. The mysterious Bagger Vance appears out of nowhere to advise Junnuh, not so much on his physical golf swing, but more so on uncovering and embracing his internal spiritual authentic swing. In the movie, Vance talks with the young caddy Arty about how ‘inside each and everyone of us, there is one, true authentic swing... it is something we are born with and is ours alone... something we cannot be taught, but we must remember... over time, the world can rob us of that swing... buried underneath our wouldas and couldas and shouldas...” Later, Vance talks with Junnuh about how ‘you see the field and let it settle in your middle... and you allow the one shot of perfect harmony with you, the club, the ball and the field find you, choose you... how there is a perfect shot out there trying to find each and every one of us... and all we have to do is get out of the way and let it choose us... it’s not seeing the field as a dragon to slay, but looking at it with soft eyes... where the turning of the earth and everything that is, comes together as one.’ I am learning to internally uncover this place Baggar Vance describes. I am learning to allow it to come to me. Like Woods, my wits and courage and wherewithal and some skill and intelligence and timing and hard work and luck have landed me in my own Master’s game. But I know my old swing, the spiritual swing that got me here, is not good enough to consistently keep me in my new game. And my current game feels like it is horribly suffering right now. The old physical postures, the old mental habitual patterns, the old breathing patterns, the old emotional triggers and behaviors, all the old ways no longer work. So, I’m learning to clear them, making room for the new swing. Yet, the new swing hasn’t quite found me yet. I’m half way between the old shore and the new shore, with only figments of footing along the way, with a silent, sacred, homing device burning bright inside me. So, come this Sunday, I pray I am a graceful elephant in a pink tutu standing in the middle of the funeral parlor. I pray that when the locomotive of old fears, old hurts, old resentments and old judgments, steams through, I simply step aside and let it go. It’s just not worth it to mire myself. As the locomotive whistle fades in the distance, I pray I see all my relatives as real people, carrying their own demons and their own light filled divinity. People I admit I probably don’t know, just like they don’t know me. I pray I stay internally present and in the middle of my body without disappearing as I so frequently and easily do around my family. If I am fortunate to accomplish these seemingly simple, yet currently monumental tasks, I pray I am open to allowing my sacred spiritual authentic swing to find me, and let love and light pour through me, so that I may embrace those around me with compassion, kindness, gentleness, patience, humor and peace. If anything, I pray I can feel Grandfather Judy gleefully flying around among us during the viewing, and above the voluminous and luminescent Opal Nee’s head as she thunders a sermon, and then in the basement of the Church of the Brethren at Liberty Mills where the ladies are kindly cooking and serving us a meal. Grandfather never missed good food. Thanks Grandpa. I love you.  Your contributions help support The Purple Phoenix Press.
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