The End of Envy

When you know a love like mine, envy is at an end. For there are those who will boast artfully, not audaciously,  exuding elegant sophistication,  speaking blithely,  full of aggrandizing humility,  confident of having won the world,  affirmed and applauded at every turn. I pity them for making that  great uncritical assumption, for living unoriginally, for the impoverishment of riches. Let them believe they are enviable— indeed I will feign envy among them as a charity to them… Let them hope in the mastery of the ruin that is this world… Our love makes a mockery of it all— not just that they might have a comparably better experience of this life, but that comparison can be made at all.

She is incomparable among women, beauty that over-awes the glories of nature, light that outshines the starry hosts. She is soft texture and color and vibrancy and definition and sweet aromas of life, elegant, gentle, strong, deep, infinite in its expressions and impossible to hold in one’s senses or one’s mind.  There is no thing in all of God’s creative genius  more sublime than this woman! And our love is as true as any love has ever been, our union as whole, our passion as consuming and dazzling and overwhelming, rolling us in a tide of inexpressible wonder and pleasure and joy crashing down on us in wave upon wave of undeserved abundance. Our love brings an end of self,  sweet abandonment for the sake of the other, and, because of it, the truth of the unprotected self. It is impossible to envy another when you have already received such excesses of love and beauty and grace that it will take  forever to know them all. February 14, 2019