The simplest thing

Someone said: We should love with an open hand.
I loved that imagery. An outstretched opened hand, palm up, the most vulnerable gesture of trust. The perfect image of a generous heart.

Then I realised most people love with hearts like clenched fists. Clenched tight like a miser's fist around a coin, until it cannot open, cannot give; but must cling to the garnered love received else-when or be empty.

Here is the thing: the more you love, the more you love.
You cannot hoard it.
Love does not accrue interest, or gain value, unspent.
You cannot negotiate or barter it: I will love you if you love me back; or if you give, or do, or become such and such.
It will not answer. I just won't work.
There is that fist, closed sweatily over that sticky unspent coin.
And it is valueless. Quite valueless. Currency that will not trade on any market; you can buy nothing wholesome with what is spoiled and soured.

But if it opens - the heart-hand - it unclenches and the love spills out and grows. Spills out and spills over into every part of your life.

The hand, once it is open, spreads out the fingers, becomes a star shape.
It takes up more and more space, and in that space love grows.
Love expands and fills up every part of your life.
The more you live, the more you love your life.

The more you love, the more you love.
It is the simplest thing, really.

Manuela Cardiga