"And so each day I would ask him, 'Death, my friend, how do I play with Life?"

"But death hasn't been talking to me lately. And I have forgotten how to play with Life."

Cortney's Magician said, "And so you have." Magicians are always prone to such ambiguous declarations.

Editorial Rule #1: In the land of Cortney and the Magician, Life and Death are identical twins. Although usually connected at the hip or some other appendage, they occasionally split from each other. Like a divorce, they are no longer whole, but wonder through the woods until they once again find each other, and reattach themselves at the hip or some other appendage.

And the Magician knew, as Magician's always know--that's why they are Magicians. So, he aked Cortney the Clown, "What would Death say to you today, if he was here?"

And Cortney the Clown thought about this for awhile. "I don't know, My Magician. He probably wouldn't say anything. But, he would be there."

Cortney's Magician, like all Magicians, never told Cortney what to do, for Magicians can't advise, that's rule number 2. They can ask questions, they can understand, and they can joke. But they cannot talk in any other way.

Cortney the Clown continued, rubbing the color from his eyes. It was melting because he was crying clown tears.

"I have gone to the clown doctor. I told him that I had lost my friend and I no longer could be a Clown. The Doctor looked at his Clown books--and in a very detached way--as Doctors are prone to do because they are doctors, he named my disease. It is some sort of multisyllabic word. It didn't have anything to do with my friend the Doctor said. He gave me many things to treat my disease. And while I felt better, I still didn't know how to be a Clown."

"And, my friend was still gone," Cortney the Clown continued.

"So I went to the Clown Priest. I told him that I had lost my friend. The Priest looked at his Clown books and then named my condition. In a very solemn way--as priests are prone to do because they are priests--he told me that I should put my faith in the Clown God. If I believed in the Clown God, he would forgive me. Although the clown God could not tell me how to be a Clown, he could tell me through his Clown Priests how to goto Clown Heaven."

"And so over lunch, which consisted of Pizza, and Coke, and all sorts of Cookies which are good for clowns, I pondered the question of how to get to Clown heaven and forgot about the taste of my Clown lunch. And I imagined things which I thought the Clown God would think he should forgive me for before letting me into Clown Heaven. And although it sounded really fun to goto Clown heaven...and it made me feel a little better for awhile, I still did not know why I was a Clown. And my friend was still gone."

"As I sat eating my Clown Cookies which are really good for clowns, in walked a Clown psychologist. Clown psychologists always walk in, never out. He had a beard, spoke with an accent, and asked me questions about my Mother and Bananas. And while I really like Bananas because they are yellow and slippery, I didn't understand the Clown psychologist."

"And so the Clown psychologist consulted hisClown psychologist books. And after many days, theClown psychologist told me--in a very Objectiveway as Clown psychologists are prone to do--that Iwas suffering from a different multisyllabic wordwhich I cannot remember."

"He said the only way to become a Clown againwas to understand that millions of clowns hadfailed to become Clowns again. He said that theonly way to become a clown again was to thinkabout being a Clown and talk about being a clown."