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Showing Up

9/15/2015

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Darkness had settled in for the night and the desert temperature was falling.  It was my first time at Burning Man, a festival devoted to acts of gift giving, self expression and community that is “too hard to describe”. After repeatedly hearing, ”You just have to experience it”, I decided it was time.

One night my husband and I found ourselves overwhelmed by the sensory explosion. There were no longer any visible paths to the mile-wide center, known as the Playa.  We had to lift our bicycles over our heads and step through the sea of bikes that appeared, chasing the big name DJ line up.  We heard there was a Tiki Bar at the fence, the outermost barrier of Burning Man's temporary city. So we put on our goggles and started to peddle into the darkness, away from the carnival of lights and sounds.  

There are no markings in the desert at night. It’s an incredibly freeing experience to bike as fast and as far as you want, knowing the small fence will protect you from the desire to peddle forever. My hands started to chill against the handle bars; still no sign of our destination.

Then a small glowing light came into view.  After another ten minutes we found ourselves standing at a booth just large enough for the bartender to sit on a cooler. 

“Welcome to the Dusty Pineapple. We like to say the drinks are average but the music’s great; however, I’m having some trouble with the music,” the bartender explained as he wiggled the wires producing sporadic sound.

We were welcomed with a hug and handed a half-filled cup of rum and warm coke. We were delighted! His welcome was elixir enough. The bartender, affectionately named Dad, was the leader of a small camp of people who come in from all over the country to man the Tiki Bar. This year he didn’t think he could make it, but decided he had to show up, so he boarded a plane from South America.

Dad settled back onto his perch, “I’m so humbled that you came out here. Usually if eight people come it’s a good night!”

And there he sat . . .  in the vast darkness . . . waiting with a gift . . . for those who show up.

A huge wave of gratitude came over me. Biking the miles home, tears chilled my cheeks as I thought about the lesson I had received.

We wake up every morning and go to bed each night.  In between there is a vast space of hours that is ours whether we show up or not.  Showing up isn’t easy. It takes energy and commitment.  It means not shrinking when we bump up against discomfort; connecting again and again with our inherent value so that we share the best part of ourselves with others; and it means trusting enough to loosen our grip so that the gravity of life’s flow can pull us in the direction we are meant to follow.

There are a lot of ways to experience Burning Man.  For me, it was the surprising, magical way people showed up for each other in this self proclaimed “do-ocracy” that makes this grand heart-centered experiment worth the drive, the dust, the noise and the heat. I want to continue to explore open hearted living. Want to join me?

Leave your emotional armor at the gate.

Replace judgement with hugs.

Trust that others have your back.

Tune into the single experience we all share on this earth.

And then show up for others in the most generous, tender, wondrous way you can.

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When you Admire Up Close

5/2/2015

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Artist: LeeAnn Brook
Have you noticed how often you admire from afar?  Someone’s shoes, home, smile, kindness, parenting, courage, intelligence, accomplishments, intuition, talent . . .   It can show up in shades of pure awe to downright jealousy. Admiration is an energy. It bubbles up inside of us so quickly that I believe its source is not in your head, but rather somewhere in between your heart and your gut.  

Our gut holds the mixed-up emotions.  “I want to be this too.” Comparison. Withholding. Competition. Scarcity.

Our heart shows up pure. Inspired. Grateful to experience the other and learn from them. Curious how they embody what they do.  Delighted in what you see.  Desirous . . . yes.  But mudita is at the core of heart centered admiration.

Mudita is Sanskrit word for unselfish joy.  This beautiful Buddhist practice is cultivated when we can experience another’s happiness and blessings without envy.  Its foundation lies in our ability to see the abundance of life’s blessings, regardless of whether they shower us or others.

This can feel like an unnatural place to land when we’ve been conditioned to believe in the scarcity of a hyper-competitive world.  I have two suggestions to find mudita.  

Last night my meditation teacher shared his grounded response to whatever life delivers, “Right now, this is perfect.”  If that is a hard sentence to form, try “imperfectly perfect”. It’s a trusting, neutral place to receive our present moment and those of others in their own journeys.

And then there is the opportunity to admire up close, rather than from afar.  The more distance there is between you and your admiration, the more space there is for your gut and head to get involved. A few examples: when you are eyeing up a woman’s shoes, give her a compliment; pay attention to the ease with which co-worker accomplishes a task and tell him; when you observe a friend starting a new chapter in life, articulate what inspires you about their momentum.

Recently I received an email about an art exhibit.  The artist’s work drew me in so deeply I decided to reach out and let her know.  And here’s where the beauty of mudita unfolds. We talked, connected, and became inspired to offer a class together!  Life blossomed.

Withheld admiration is not just wasted energy, it’s life force stopped in its tracks. During this new spring season, tune in and let your heart deliver fresh energy to others by sharing all that you admire and love.    




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The Weight We Carry

9/20/2014

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We only had fifteen minutes.  “I think we can do this,” I said as we parked our car in the bus station parking lot.  My husband and I hopped out and headed for a lone boulder in the overgrown grass, with comb and scissors in hand.  Alex needed a haircut before returning to San Francisco from Tahoe.  I’ve been cutting his hair for years.

As I worked diligently to finish before the bus arrived a woman approached us, “I don’t know who you are, where you are from, or what you are doing, but would you please give me a haircut?” 

She went on to explain in a shaky voice that she had lost her house and her husband to cancer ten months ago.  Carmelle was living in her van and was about to collect survivor benefits the next day. 

“I just want bangs like I used to have and this weight off of my shoulders.”

How could I say no? 
 
So she took her place on the rock.  I warned her, “You know I’m not formally trained and the wind is blowing pretty hard.”

“Just do it. Please.  I trust you.”  

Each time I asked her for guidance she replied, “I trust you. Do what you think is right.”

In between the silence and her sharing her story of their loving marriage and her hard knocks, she would break into tears, “I can’t believe you are doing this for me.”

I took a big gulp as I cut four inches away from her eyes. 

“You know I used to have dishwater blond hair.  Can you see my roots?”  

I could see her roots, the hardship of the years in her lined face, and the weight she was carrying being lifted with each inch I took off. 

I gave her a final hug and a wish for a lighter new chapter that matched her hair.  She crossed the parking lot, hopped back into her van, and took a peek into her rear view mirror.  I held my breath.  

Carmelle's wide smile and a big thumbs up are still clear in my mind. 

So is the weight of her desperate request. 

We all carry weight. Most of it is hidden from others; we feel it’s ours alone to bear. That impromptu haircut on the boulder showed me that we all can lift the weight of another. We both needed courage: she needed to step out of the van and ask; I needed to say yes and try.

Then came ease . . . connection . . . support . . . relief and an opening to new possibilities.  How can you lift the weight of another?  How can others support you?

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Keeping Your Distance

7/18/2014

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There’s a big difference between looking through the glass at life and being ankle deep in it.

I just came back from one of those big trips you take when you want to feel alive again. You go not just to get a break from your own knee-deep responsibilities. You hope that by stepping away from your life, you will gain clarity . . . new energy . . . new perspective.

I knew it was time for this trip to Vietnam and Cambodia with my husband. I was starting to feel a comfortable distance from life. Running on autopilot; resting in the ease of routine and habitual choices; feeling victim to the pace of my days; procrastinating; observing my life rather than being fully in it. I even felt distant from my own heart.

So off to a far away land. Immediately the heat, smells, sites and flavors woke up my senses. And then my heart broke open . . . seeing the pain of poverty mile after mile . . . yet feeling the peace behind the eyes and the smiles of everyone in my path.  

Each day I had greater desire to get closer to the people, to be deeper in their worlds.  I would look out of the car window at the rice paddies as we sped along, watching the back breaking work of the straw hatted workers, curious about how rice is grown and harvested.  My desire for a perfect photo for my walls shifted to wanting to experience the feeling of being in the rice paddies myself.  I became obsessed with the idea.  But what was I going to do?  Tell our driver to stop the car and march out through the wet fields and saddle up next to a farmer?

Yes. That was what I was going to do.  We were on a small dirt road in the scorching heat of the afternoon.  I found the courage to verbalize my request, “Would it be possible for me to plant some rice?”  Our guide turned his head with a wide grin.  A minute later my shoes were off, and three dark faces with bright bright eyes were welcoming me to join them.  I slowly stepped into the slippery mud and sank to my ankles. A child like energy burst within me as I felt the mud between my toes. I was handed my own bunch of young rice sproutings that had been pulled by hand just to replant them again evenly in order to maximize the harvest. One by one I pushed the small stem deep into the clay like earth, being coached on the right distance between plantings.  The fully clothed ladies cackled under their hats. It was a joyful moment for all of us.  I could have stayed there all afternoon, ankle deep in life.

I’m back now.  Determined to feel the deep texture of my life and the hearts and desires of those in my daily path.  I’m done with the distance that makes us numb to others and keeps life safe and easy.


What distance are you keeping? Why? What might you gain by rolling down the window, getting a little muddy, allowing a new closeness in your life?




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Let My Life Become

7/13/2012

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Let my life become ~

The unfolding of me.

A winding path to my inner content.

A daily blessing that I recognize.

An inner wisdom from my own life lessons.

A redefinition of achievement.

A full experience of love.

An unexpected garden of inspiration.

A freedom in knowing myself.

A refined focus on balance.

A constant wave of kindness that carries others.

A contributing part of the greater journey for all.

A beautiful becoming.

Blessings,
Amy

ps. This unexpected vertical garden is on the side of Drew High School in San Francisco.

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When Our Heart Leads the Way

10/25/2011

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Where does your heart want to lead you? Are you open to handing over the wheel?
 
I've been driving around with nine kittens in my back seat. (Does that make me a cat lady?)
 
 Maybe. Or as I choose to see it, I let my heart lead the way this month and I’ve arrived in an unforeseen, surprisingly wonderful spot . . where life feels soft.  Time has slowed down.  Priorities have shifted. My heart feels full. I naturally hang in the present for lovely long periods of time.
 
What a gift when our hearts are opened!
 
As I anticipate the day our last foster kitten finds a home, I’ve been asking, “How can I keep my heart front and center?”
 
Spending time with an animal or a baby is an easy invitation into an open-hearted place.  We know being in nature provides a beautiful shift out of our heads.  But day to day, I’ve decided the answer might be to operate consciously out of a place of compassion.  Slowing down is the first step.
 
I want to look for and honor the small acts of compassion I see.
 
Hear and then soften the sharpness of my tongue.
 
Apologize quickly when I know I should.
 
Listen to my heart’s tugs and then act on them, even if it's unexpected or feels uncomfortable . . . to give money; to read on; to let the person on the corner tell me about their cause; to feel tears; to help one person in a big way, to make a stand . . . even in a small way.
 
Look more people in the eye, with a smile.
 
Remember that every difficult or ugly personality we encounter started as a kitten.
 
Blessings,
Amy
 
ps. Kittens are beautiful reminders of the purity and fragility of each of us at our core.  If you’d like to have one of these furry reminders, they still are looking for a home.

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    Amy Tirion
    About Me
    Advocate for Stillness, Seeker of Inspiration, Playful Mom, Lover of Creativity, Still Learning, Believer in Women,  Founder of Delight for the Soul

    Check Out My New Book Knowing Beautiful:
    A New Bedtime Story for Women

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    Becoming
    This blog is an invitation to stop.  Breathe.  And tap into the part of you that craves more space, inspiration, and nurturing.  It captures the writings from my Delight for the Soul Newsletter.  They are personal moments of reflection, inspiration, and questioning that focus on Being rather than Doing.  It's a direction we are all invited to go in, as we live deeply and do less.  The more we focus on being, the more delighted we become . . . and the more becoming we are.


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