The Clown Keeps Dancing

also, considering the hermetic extrovert

Lovely person, hello! It’s been too long!

A lot is happening all the time, and there’s no need to fight my mind over finding the right words. Why do I think that y’all only want heavily researched pieces of social critique? Why am I doing that to myself and my words!? Fie! If you like these words and aren’t a subscriber, consider subscribing and push this button.

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Photo by RAPHAEL MAKSIAN on Unsplash

On the day the Supreme Court struck down Roe v. Wade, I co-hosted a queer clown performance workshop and fire ritual. We started our clown workshop with a moment of silence. We yelled communally in frustration and stomp our feet about the world we know ending. It was a blast!

This workshop, co-facilitated with the wonderful clown and yoga instructor Danielle Levsky, was a breath of fresh air (if you’re in San Diego, look up her shows!) I return to physical comedy exercises because it connects me to what comedy feels like. Removed from the “cleverness” and schtick I prop myself against when writing, all I can do on stage in that moment is exist as myself and honor what comes up. It fortifies the foundations of comedic expression, but also the foundation of how one carries themselves.

For the purposes of this writing, let’s say that the world does not need any more comedians. A cataclysmic comedic event happened (take your pick,) and the industry of comedy can no longer fulfill the professionally sustainable mass-media dream it has advertised for +100 years. Clubs no longer exist, the money from the top is gone, and we are left with only the skills from the grind.

As a person who likes writing and performing funny things, the idea of being hard locked out of being a comedian brings a touch of sadness followed by a gargantuan sense of relief. No longer needing to obsess about a specific image of modern success, a sense of vagabondary emerges. I would much rather live a life that is funny than find success solely as a lucrative funny person.

In writing comedy, the analysis of neuroses is a spiral. When I'm physically present, I hold more compassion in my body when it communes with the world through the senses. There is an ebb and flow that’s missing in mind-centered, self-centered comedic writing, which to me in the past been a cloistered existence. I’m not immune to the charms of the tortured comedic life, but I will readily admit it I do prefer hermitage from time to time.

Is there such a thing as a hermetic extrovert? St. Simeon leaves his shared desert-dwelling hermitage to be a holy fool in Emesa, where he’s lived with his same-sex partner John of Edessa for nearly 30 years. During this time, he lives in chosen poverty on the streets to help the sick and challenge the injustice perpetuated within the town’s community through acts of seeming insanity. He collects alms and causes mischief in the name of God and a more equitable community.

I don’t think it’s right to say that he’s abandoned his hermitage to live in a city. The dedication to an alternative internal logic is its own social hermitage. The madness is the method. He is living in geographical proximity, but following the rules of an alternative reality which others may only grok in glimpses. As a public servant, he touches lives. It’s a practical way of creating change, in the simplest and most direct terms: this foolishness is a daily physical public practice that exists outside of theory and discourse. As a holy fool, he refuses any exaltation by acting erratically. He is an oasis and an island all at once.

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There are some very successful comedians today whom I wish would opt for island life, away from Twitter and Netflix specials. Rogan had the gull to name a comedy special Sacred Clown, a term for the clown who serves a community through ritual and communion with other worlds. The least he could do is abandon all worldly possessions, starting with his recording studio.

The sacred clown and the holy fool share a social need. Sacred clown is used primarily to describe a social role within indigenous American communities, holy fool stays reserved for Christian faiths.

One of my favorite practices I’ve read about sacred clown is their service within festivals. Much like the Western civ use of clown, whose skits act as filler between the larger and more involved acts, the sacred clown fills in the lulls of the party. When there is a break in the music, the clown dances around the first to keep the spirit of celebration alive.

Interestingly enough, in another culture, it’s the healer’s duty to dance when there is no music. Outside of festivals, in times of communal devastation where dancing is far from the minds of the larger community, the clown dances as a public service. To dance at this time is surreal, but it is not out of jubilation. The dancing during group mourning hopes to ensure that they will not forget how to dance communal dance passed down through generations. Akin to the oral tradition, wherein spoken word holds the power of invocation, clowning preserves a physical tradition. Serving as a living record, hard copy, and primary source, the clown carries the culture of celebration within the body. As an added bonus, dancing to no music amongst the mourning is a pretty funny bit. Unknowable in all their crazy logic, but sought after as the person who holds the light. Again, island and oasis.

So please, if you have the capacity at this time, think of your neighbors and dance. St. Simeon’s feast day is July 21st if you need an excuse. I suggest you free up your mental energy and go for it any day.