Giving It Away

Nothing is finished until it is given away. A session of practice, a prayer, a day of caring for a sick person, a kind word in a parking lot: at the end of it, turn around and hand over whatever good it produced. May this go to everyone. May it reach the ones who are suffering. May it reach the one I love who has died.

The old masters call this dedication. It takes a few seconds, requires no belief, and changes the shape of everything before it, because an hour spent for others is a different hour from one spent for oneself, even if the hour looked the same from outside. They also say that kindness done in the name of someone who has died reaches them. Whatever you make of that, the doing of it changes the person who does it. The grief has somewhere to go.

The practice

1. At the end of anything that held some good in it, pause. A meditation, a difficult phone call handled with care, a night sitting up with someone, a meal cooked, a moment of patience you did not think you had. It does not need to be spiritual.
2. Bring to mind whatever good was in it. Do not inflate it and do not dismiss it. There was something good here.
3. Give it. Say inwardly, in your own words: whatever good was in this, may it go to whoever needs it. May it help. You can be general, all beings everywhere, or specific: the woman in the next bed, the friend who is drowning in debt, everyone in this hospital tonight.
4. If you are giving it to someone who has died, say their name. May this reach you. May it help you wherever you are. May you be at ease. Let yourself mean it.
5. Let go of the good. Do not keep any of it for yourself. What is given away is not lost. It is what stays with us that is lost.
6. Go on with your day.

The one-line version, said inwardly whenever you remember: may this help someone.

What to expect

At first the dedication can feel like a formality. Over time it becomes the moment when the hour stops being about you, and the mind that has just given something away is lighter than the mind that is still holding it. If you are grieving, dedication gives your love a job. Grief that has nowhere to go turns in on itself. Grief that can be turned into kindness, and the kindness turned toward the person who died, becomes something you can carry.

The intention is what counts. A clumsy dedication meant sincerely is complete; a polished one recited without meaning it is not. And there is no good too small to give away. If all you managed today was to get out of bed and be civil to someone, give that.