Energy

"I don't play that way," she said, sipping her coffee. "I don't do backbiting, gaslighting or, really, assholing of any kind." He laughed and responded, "Right, of course not." He was tired - the kind of tired you get from being under siege; there was, he surmised, plenty of rest for the wicked but none for the already weary. "Seriously," she pressed, and rose from the table. He startled, concerned that she had heard a tone in his voice - a kind of disbelief or even disdain. "Hey, no, I get it," he began, but she shushed him and disappeared into the house for a few minutes. When she returned, she placed a pillar candle in front of him; the tall, clear glass held a light grey wax with a red wax ribbon throughout. "Uh ...," he began, and then she turned the pillar around. Painted on the glass in black was the word "REVERSE". His eyes grew wide. "I don't play that way," she said again, sitting down. "I send all of their shit back in its energy envelope unopened. It's not revenge, because ... well, it never touches me (whatever it is)." He stared at the candle, transfixed. "Teach me," he whispered (and she nodded).