I was reeling after the he left me. It is always the same. The shame, the degradation,  the impotence, the self-pity, the excruciating cold numbing fire,  were all familiar to me but there was something different this time. I was not able to grasp it but I felt a slight shifting in my relationship with him.  The Clown was right but not all-powerful, not all-knowing. I knew that when he was running his mouth about Her. There was a bit too much swagger in his response to me. I posed no threat to his rule, or did I?

I called out to them. “Where are you?”  After a minute or so I saw them rise from the rubble looking sheepishly at me.  “Where did y’all go?”  The Priest  replied , “Well, we did not see that we could be of much help with him around.  You know that Freud would say the interplay between the Ego and the Superego and the Id , , , ”  “Shut up!” I said.  “You are as useless as he said you were.”   “I am an academic what do you want from me?  I deal with concepts not crazy Clowns.  He really makes me uncomfortable .”  “Yeah he really don’t get what we are trying to say,” the Rebel chimed in.  “That’s all y’all do is say shit and sing and write papers.  We are homeless and your lofty romantic drivel  wont help a starving man no matter how profound it is.”  “Well what do you want us to do?  We could set up on the street out There somewhere with a guitar maybe they will give us money” said the rebel.  I chuckled.  “We may have to before it’s over but I don’t think that is going to feed us all very long,” I said.

Talking with the Clown usually helps my perspective.  Laughter has another face too.  Sometimes it brings life and playfulness into bad situations.  The Clown had shown me my foolishness.  I saw myself through his eyes and it was “stupid” as he called it.  Being in agreement with him changed things.  “I don’t know boys, but we got to figure something out.  Come on.  I want to go see something.”  As I took a few steps in no particular direction and the two fell in line behind me.  The Priest inquired, “Where are we going?”  “I’m not really sure about the where or the how but I need to go find everybody and talk to them, especially Her,”  I offered.  “A Quest!” the Rebel said excitedly.  “Shall I compose as we go?  Would you like it blues, more jazzy, or a more classic romantic feel?  You see . . .”.  I turned, placing my finger to my lips indicating for him to hush.  I started to cut him off.  I started to shut him down, but had a second thought.  I chuckled again and said  “Yeah, you do that.  You are actually quite talented and I like your stuff.  Just play what you feel.  A sound track may be just the thing,” I smiled at him.  The Priest chimed in, “A Hero’s journey.  You know that is a common archetype or more correctly a motif that can be found in some form in all cultures.  Joseph Campbell,  one of the most well-known if not the preeminent 20th century scholar on the subject would say that . . . ”  I held up my finger again but this time over smiling lips.  “OK smart boy, then what do we do now?”  I could see that I had rattled him a bit with the question.  He replied the best he could with, “Well ah . . . you know that ah . . . I am not as familiar with the mundane and/or logistical aspects of an actual journey, ah . . . my pursuits have been more along the lines of ah . . .”  “Yeah, that’s what if figured.  Tell you what, you keep notes and watch and be ready if I  need a consultation along the way.  You are pretty smart in your fashion but I think you only know about things.  I need to know the thing itself.”  “But of course, that is indeed my function, after all.  The other is a bit outside my purview.  And if you would allow me to . . . ”  I cut my eyes back at him with a smile and he quit talking.  He seemed relieved.

High on a hill above them he stood and watched all that had transpired.  The corner of one corner of his mouth turned upward within his panted on smile.   He shrugged either in resignation or perhaps hope.  He turned on his big floppy shoe and walked away down the hill back toward Her.