The back of the van

*

And in the back of the van was none other than Balaam's ass, a demure creature. But Balaam himself was not there.

And in the back of the van sat the Nazi Kommandant's wife. But there was not much left of her.

Not far from her Don and Dave sat next to each other, not saying anything. In peace, although, my God! no one is ever really in peace, in a site such as earth, what in the world would peace be here? Here everything is turmoil but still there is such a thing as a peaceful turmoil. Where the tongue lies at rest and accepts the turmoil, as it were, as it can.

And in the back of the van....

*

In the back of the van sat Body and Soul, and the two of them weren't talking much anymore. Soul had not a bone that could be described as unbroken -- his ethereal carapace of thought was now one big bruise. Does that still need to be explained or do the soulful ones finally understand where the devastation comes from? Meanwhile Body propped her husband up and held him wherever it didn't hurt. If she was submissive, if Soul found her pathetic to be so submissive, nevertheless, when the moment of need came and came and came, he found himself welcoming her submission and feeding on it to keep himself alive. For indeed the fools of the world are a kind of medication and not the over the counter kind either, their foolishness is necessary and what you laugh about is what also keeps you in one piece, once the laughing has stopped.

Soul lay in the van as one enormous bruise. Soul had had his long fling with the devil, while friends had urged Body to leave him for good, to leave him for *her* good, but Body couldn't do it, she knew so very little and one of the many things she did *not* know was how to be unfaithful to the small bare pledge that she had made. So she stuck around and was branded as a fool -- not so different in nature from Balaam's sweet natured ass next to her -- they were sisters. Body and Soul did make a part of the van, took up space in it, but he was only suffered to be there because she was. Meanwhile the anchoress lay in the very back, cancer ridden, her inner passages knotted and congested by strokes and clots, but she was not ready to be counted out, after all.

There were families with kids but they were strangely subdued and quiet.

There were animals of various persuasions. There were broken items of every type, the rejected items of a spiritual garage sale, waiting to be -- waiting to be taken?

Teddy bears with bent ears and broken legs. Old dolls who'd served their time. Lots of faithful people, bruised and damaged.

Wherever we are going, Elf said, it will be a good place and I will be happy. Because *she* will not be there.

*

"The lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice."

*