Mind the gap, it’s a gapless fail

The clown is never born, since it never dies. So they say. So I hear them say. Well, at least for the second part of the first sentence of this text.

I feel that I discover the clown, uncover her/him. S/he is there under the blanket of my awareness. Sometimes I notice a movement under the blanket, sometimes I hear a sound coming from under the blanket and sometimes when I go to sleep and prepare my non-awareness bed by uncovering the blanket, I stumble upon this vivid creature staring at me with the eyes full of the world. 

How dare you, I say in my mind slipping into the well-deserved sleep of awareness, how dare you stare at me like that? Now that I want to rest? And you, wonderful and wanderful creature you take the rest of my wake awareness and bring it forth will all the power of the existence. And I stand I up, let the clown put me on like a coat, cover my tired self with insatiable lust for life.

Let’s go and play, says clown. S/he is saying it as if I have a power at that moment to say anything: yes or no or nothing. And we go and play, what else? The clown plays me and stretches my self to new horizons, zeniths and nadirs. And the gymnastics of self entails.

This slipping into the sleep is how I slip into the clowning state, it’s a failure of falling asleep, just before losing the awareness, the clown appears. A failure of awareness to completely temporarily shut down. A mistake in procedure that reveals the whole procedure of awareness falling asleep. All the insecurities, all the vulnerabilities, all the joys, all the dark and light thoughts, all the untamed and untamable desires rise. Lika phoenix he he.

Maybe a clown is never born and never dies, because s/he was born when I was born and s/he will die when I will die, and discovering her/him is but uncovering the undiscovered parts of self.

“Bed” by World Bank Photo Collection is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Post scriptum 8th January 2021

Well, nice text, but I hope the reader didn’t fall for the wordplay, some more or less successful language turns and puns, as the content is not that romantic as it wants to be depicted here, adorned with wordplay and language gimmicks.

It is more likely that clown and self and the world are much bigger mess than how they are presented here, and what is lacking is admitting this. But let me not be too harsh on myself. I give to the text that it creates an affective state in me and I want to caress this soon to be carcass being.

By Simeon Huzun

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