Envy hurts. It hurts every cell in the body. It causes faces to twist into ugliness and good thoughts to scurry and hide in its brilliant light - like they - good thoughts - are vermin and envy is the can of Raid. Envy exaggerates everything - makes small things big and little things small. I think it is a sin because of the harm it causes those who feel it and I suppose because of what it might make them do to relieve that agony. I'm experiencing envy right now and I want it gone. I won't banish it though. I'll invite it in - poor frightened thing that it truly is - I'll make it tea and say 'there, there' to it. 'This will pass, dear Envy. You know it is from lack and not abundance that you rage so.' I tell it to call friends, and to remember what it feels like when I write something good and true. I remind it of why we write, we two, for envy is just my creative flame running amok. I don't want to call friends though. They will think I am petty and mean. I am this minute. I am petty and small with this green grief. Maybe it isn't the time to call friends who aren't feeling this awfulness and perhaps never do. Maybe I am small and mean. I wish I had my Anne Lamott book with me instead of it being in storage with all my other worry fetishes. She for sure understands jealousy and envy and the dark hour of petty rage. I will conjure her up and have tea with her. She'll say 'there, there'.
How are you?