While the capacity to be a living sun lies somewhere within each of us, it is more often realized in clowns than in others, clowns being among the few free enough to be what they dream of being; free to stick there tongues out at stodgy bureaucrats, free to turn cartwheels in the streets, free to dance their existences with uninhibited abandon never pausing to worry how foolish they might appear to their fellows, for the foolish and the irrational are their acknowledged domain. Men bounded by the limits of reason and logic cannot be whole, cannot be free, cannot be suns. If a man refuses to accept the irrational, his attempts at finding joy are limited. An existence that denies the absurd is sterile, desolate and incomplete.
A clown immerses himself in the irrational, revels in the absurd and in doing so becomes a source of energy, a sun. But the clown is also grounded in the mundane, integrating the real and the fanciful with a grace and a gentleness born of his love and respect for the world that breathes and grows around him. He reacts to, responds to and celebrates his mutual existence with every living event he encounters; a bumble bee, a street cleaner, a rainy day. Another man’s distractions are a clowns delights, because where other men live in spite of these things, a clown lives in communion with them.
…And because his audience is composed of people with passions and fantasies not so very dissimilar from his own, he will touch them in very special places reserved for unspoken wishes and unlived dreams. When he touches these tender places, they may not laugh uproariously…they may not even laugh at all. But the clown will feel their smiles and at that moment everything that he has given to them, which is everything that he is, will have been repaid in full.
I guess that summarizes me as well as anything.