Even if someone broadcasts to the whole universe slanderous and ugly rumors about you,
In return, with an open and caring heart, praise his or her abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

~ 37 Practices of the Bodhisattva, verse 14

Our first reaction to pain is usually a defensive one, acting from within the closed system of a self-centered narrative. This separates you (the offender) and me (the offended) in a literal way, limiting my action as a self-protective “response” to something you have “done” to me. Whether I act out this response (e.g. by retaliating or by withdrawing from you) or “act it in” (e.g. by repressing my desire to defend myself in these or other ways), I am caught up in the turmoil of the world projected by experience.

In this way, taking refuge in a morality or an institution, conforming to guidelines or precepts (such as 'the dharma') as a way to deal with someone else harming me, is no less reactive than adopting a punitive attitude to the offender. Why? Because it is just another way of reifying subjective reactions (for example, trying to be good) into codes and systems that look like they are third person objective when in fact they are first person projections transposed to the level of an impersonal organization and ethics.

So, what exactly are the possibilities that open up when one transcends the closed system of a self-centered narrative; when, for example, instead of seeing myself as the victim of slander and gossip, I see perhaps that I have made myself the star of the show, distorted others' motives and relegated them to a supporting role in my personal drama?

By owning my projections, I can see the role I play, I can know that “all the world is a stage” and that I am a mere player in it. With this insight, I become a little bit freer, ceasing to identify completely with my role. This might enable me to face my offender with an “open and caring heart”. But it might not. I might, after all, remain “the same old asshole” (Jeff Shore; Empty Trash, Empty Self; an autobiographical sketch). If that is my part in the play, insight isn't going to change that.

So I might not become a bodhisattva but I might take myself a little less seriously, becoming more playful and creative in my humble role. I might improvise rather than stick to the script, I might flip the tragedy on its head and turn the whole thing into a farce, or I might just drift along, opening to and savouring all of the ambiguities while slipping in and out of character as into a dream I cannot control. Maybe I will develop a deeper understanding and appreciation of others facing the same challenges in their own roles and from there feel empathy for their dilemmas without it being such an effort to overcome myself.

But maybe not.