Sometimes, life is a Mad Circus.
It is full of magic, of strangeness, of wonder, of secrets, and of oddities we Very Much Don’t Bother to explain. It is not that we cannot explain the oddities: it is that in order to do so, we would have to overcome our fear of getting too close to the secret. The fear seeps into our inner being in one of many eternally twisting, elaborate ways, each of which can prevent us from ever knowing the truth of the performance.
Sometimes, it is the fear that the frightening bear juggling batons at the center of the ring is actually nothing more than a person in a bear suit tossing twigs around. To get close enough to divine this answer would utterly obliterate any faith in the performance. Anyone can glue on a bit of fuzz and prance around a ring: it would be the end of all magic.
Other times, we are not afraid that we are being lied to: we are afraid we are being told the truth, which can be far more devastating. If the bear juggling batons is really a bear juggling batons, then it is Dangerous. Straying a millimeter too close could easily spell the swift and violent end of precious, rare life. This is terrifying.
The final fear is an undercurrent in almost every existence. It is the common thread that binds us all, behind the masks of the other fears, this one lurks toxically. You see, there is a possibility that we are neither being lied to nor being told the truth. There is the possibility that something else is at play. There is the possibility that the circus, the bear, all of it…doesn’t exist.
It isn’t there. There are no truths or lies: only nothingness. What supreme silliness states that because we are under a big top and see a dancing bear in a center ring that we are at a circus? We might be anywhere, everywhere, or worst of all, nowhere in creation.
What then is a spectator to do? Curl into the back row so the bear cannot reach us, squint so we cannot see the man in his fur coat, and whisper to ourselves to reassure that voices are real? In this fetid fetal position, are we to eke out the rest of our miserable days?
I say no.
It is the gift and the curse of the live performance that the spectator can at any point choose to join in the dance. We can, at any time, jump into the center of the ring.
But any idiot can do that, and many an idiot has and has gotten himself thrown out for impertinence and lack of imagination. The truth is, it’s not about the act of jumping into the ring, it’s what your act is once you get there. How will you dazzle, not the audience, but yourself? How will you surprise yourself? What feats will you marvel yourself with today?
Possibly my favorite professor of all time once asked my class for something we thought was a problem. I irately answered "dumb TV shows." I'll never forget what he said next. "Really?" he asked, looking me in the eye curiously. "So tell me, Moriah, what are you going to
do about it?"
When it comes down to it, does it matter whether the bear is a bear? Does it matter if some man stole your old gran’s ancient fur coat and went flouncing about in it? Does it matter whether the circus is really a circus?
Not only do I say no, I sing it.
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| "What will you do?" |
Because I don’t think who we are has anything at all to do with where we are, who we’re with, or what everyone else around us is. Who we are and the intricate facets of our character are based wholly and entirely on what we think and what we do. Because truthfully, there is nothing else we can control…save ourselves.
Circuses are not always circuses. Bears are not always bears. We only cease to be us when we choose to let another person play ring master. What supreme silliness would possess
So what does this all mean?
Who cares if you’re in a circus or floating in space? The only way you won’t have any fun is if you decide not to. Dance. Find out what that bear is. Steal his coat. Make a friend. But above all, do something.
Otherwise, regardless of what is or isn’t, what’s the point of you?
