You Think Too Much on Love

By Caitlin Clarke

“You think too much on love,” the Devil said.

He was lying in the grass, arms behind his head, wings spread to full span and absorbing the sun. The deep red of his body stood out against the browns and greens of the field. He was, as always, an impressive sight.

I had not expected to meet him here. I took a walk as an attempt to escape – from people, from work, from all the heavy but necessary mundanities of existence. I sought the woods and the mountains in an attempt to forget these, for the woods and the mountains are not hindered or bound by them.

“You think too much on life as well,” he added, opening one eye and squinting at me.

Exasperation, which had been succumbing in the presence of the grasses and the clouds, suddenly broke inside of me, broke from my lips in an angry torrent.

“How can one survive this world without thinking too much?” I asked. “It can’t be done except by wise men and hermits. There is no satisfaction in thought and yet it’s all that’s there for us.” My voice fell and I dropped to the ground with it, utterly defeated.

“My dear,” the Devil said, “You lose heart too easily.”

“There are just some things…” I fought for the right words “… and if I let myself think about them I get angry. But that anger is wasted, because there’s very little I can do about the things that anger me.”

“Then don’t let them anger you,” the Devil said. “That’s one thing you have control over. Transcend.”

“What’s that?”

“Transcend. Rise above.” He smiled, as always, his knowing smile. The grasses danced around him and the wind was like a quiet song. “Get a grip and control the things you can control. Remember how everyone has that level of control over their life?”

“I remember.”

“That’s all you can do. But more than that, find peace in what you do.”

“How can you tell someone to do that?” I spat out the words like the bitter things they were. I felt my mouth was full of bile.

The Devil, meanwhile, was still smiling, but the smile was fainter, and the eyes were far away. “You can’t,” he said. “Peace is something you must find for yourself.” When he let those words fall he brought his gaze around to me and let it rest there, lightly, playfully.

“Come,” he said, standing up. He was obviously amused by the wonder in my face, but he wrestled the grin into a kind expression and said, “I’ll have the wind play a song and I’ll teach you how to dance.”

“How is it that you always make me feel like a child?” I asked.

“You are yet a child,” the Devil said. “And I’m older than you’d ever care to be.”

When the wind rushed up to us and lifted my hair I felt fulfilled. I was not dreading the walk back down the mountain. I was not apprehensive at having to face the world; I was ready.