The thought of opening one’s heart, loving unconditionally, and giving when there is no hope of return often raises a serious concern.  How much is too much?  How do we continue to love those from whom we are estranged?  Should we remain open to those who move on?

In the book, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche describes transcendental generosity as:

…a willingness to give, to open without philosophical or pious or religious motives, just simply doing what is required at any moment in any situation, not being afraid to receive anything.  Opening could take place in the middle of a highway.  We are not afraid that smog or dust or people’s hatreds and passions will overwhelm us; we simply open, completely surrender, give.  This means that we do not judge, do not evaluate.  If we attempt to judge or evaluate our experience, if we try to decide to what extent we should open, to what extent we should remain closed, then openness will have no meaning at all and the idea of paramita, of transcendental generosity, will be in vain.  Our action will not transcend anything, will cease to be the act of a bodhisattva.

What is the difference between transcendental generosity and excessive generosity?  Last night, a dear friend sent me the table of contents for a book entitled, Pathological Altruism.  The chapters cover topics such as over-empathy, caring too much, trusting too much, and excessive generosity.  I never read the book Women Who Love Too Much, but I’ve always been haunted by its title.  Is it foolish to keep one’s heart open to those who turn away?

I think it depends on what we believe an open heart really entails.

Recently, I graded one hundred pages of exam papers for an animal behavior course.  Every page was a set of essay questions about altruism.  The big question was why an animal would behavior altruistically.  Possible answers were reciprocity (the potential to receive favors in return), kin selection (helping family members to survive) or individual selection (performing behaviors that have indirect selfish benefits, like alerting other animals to a food source because the group provides safety from predators).

Nowhere have I seen it written that altruism comes naturally when you stop identifying with an individual self, when you realize that you gain nothing through reciprocity that you will not ultimately lose.  You will lose everything that ever comes to you, so why not open and love?

During the summer, I had been dating a man for several months, and he abruptly ended it.  I grieved intensely, but I didn’t conceptualize our relationship as one based on dating or not dating.  Like any other person in my life, I saw him as someone to care for regardless of the particular arrangement.

His birthday arrived, and I took him to a movie.  We had a picnic by the lake, and I gave him a gift I knew he would really love.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked.  I was really taken aback.  Why wouldn’t I be?  After all, there he was, standing there, another soul sharing this dream reality with me.

Was I being foolish?  Maybe, but the way of the bodhisattva is indiscriminant kindness.  If I would do the same for a homeless person on the street, why not for someone who once showered me with affection?  An open heart is our natural state.  With fears of loss set aside, openness occurs spontaneously.  Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche wrote, “The bodhisattva is not trying to be good or kind, but he is spontaneously compassionate.”

A month later, I developed a kidney infection.  He came over to my house and took care of me.  He helped me up off the floor more than once.  Brought me water.  Even washed my dishes.  I was moved, and we began dating again.  I knew he would not want to date for very long, as was his way, but I accepted anyway.  We seemed to have built a friendship.  I thought the friendship would still be there later.

I was wrong, but I suppose that knowledge would not have changed anything.  Nothing lasts, a truth that frees us to love without expectations, in whatever ways present themselves.

Now that he is gone, I find myself in a confusing position.  I still feel love, but there is no way to act on it, no way to manifest it.

“I don’t know how to love you anymore,” I say, speaking to him only in my imagination.  How do you love someone who tells you their heart is closed to you?  Is walking away from a closed heart really an act of love?  I still wonder.  What does love even mean at that point?

Rinpoche continues:

Transcendental generosity is giving whatever you have.  Your action must be completely open, completely naked.  It is not for you to make judgments; it is for the recipients to make the gesture of receiving.  If the recipients are not ready for your generosity, they will not receive it.  If they are ready for it, they will come and take it. This is the selfless action of the bodhisattva.  He is not self-conscious: ‘Am I making any mistakes?’; ‘Am I being careful?’; ‘To whom should I open?’  He never takes sides.

Some would argue that an open heart should be reserved for those who pose no risk, but opening never hurts.  I find it to be a source of wealth and strength.  Loss does hurt, but an open heart is not necessarily synonymous with an emotional bond.  I don’t know.  I am still contemplating these things.  All I know is that there is a lot more to opennness than first meets the eye, and I suspect it has very much to do with whether we think in terms of including some people in our circle of love and excluding others.  When love is indiscriminant, the Beloved is everywhere.  The Beloved never leaves.  “Whatsoever you do to the least of these, you do to me.” (Matthew 25:40)  The other observation that plays a role in my thinking: Receiving unkindness is not necessarily an act of love.  Sticking up for oneself, even if it goes against one’s impulse to be gentle, may be more compassionate, but my instinct for what Buddhist’s call “wrathful compassion” or “compassionate wrath” is still in its infancy.  Thus, there may be times when closing is a way of opening!

I pray for wisdom and try not to think too hard.  Letting openness happen.  Perhaps now the way of love is to let go, release.

Love is whatever honors the Divine center in each of us, even if it is concealed behind a protective coating.  An enteric coating!  The Divine will still swallow him up.  He will just take longer to digest.

We have a huge barrel of wine, but no cups.
That’s fine with us. Every morning
we glow and in the evening we glow again.
They say there’s no future for us. They’re right.
Which is fine with us.

~ Rumi

As I was writing this, my car battery died.  I thought I was stranded with my two little ones.  Just last week, in a state of fear after my ex-husband left the country, I wrote, “What will happen if my car breaks down?”  Now I know.  Ask the universe a question, and you will soon receive an answer.  Geez.

New friends soon arrived to help.  They brought me a week’s worth of homemade stuffed bellpeppers, and one gave me free acupuncture while the other watched my children.  A jumpstart got me on my way, but this morning, it was dead again.  By the end of the night, however, someone I just met drove to my house with a new battery.

“So many people have appeared out of nowhere to help when I needed it,” she said, “It’s my turn to pay it forward.”  Pay it forward.  I had forgotten about that concept.  Even when there is nothing you are paying forward as a way of paying back, transcendental generosity can be very healing.  If the universe gives you an opportunity to be the person who never appeared for you, take it!

The question that was plaguing me all night: How do I love someone who has moved on?  I got my answer today.  Pay it forward.  Give the love to whoever is near, whoever is in need.

In the following movie trailer, actress Helen Hunt says, “Any moment that you open your heart to somebody, then the idea works.  And the moment you shut your heart down in some way, then it dies.”

Close or remain open?  I will remain open.  The Divine is everywhere, in everyone.