It's always been an enigma that this one song pops into my head out of nowhere — It's always the same few lyrics:

"Isn't it rich. Aren't we a pair. Me here at last on the ground. You in mid air. Where are the clowns? Quick send in the clowns. Don't bother they're here…."

I've never taken the time to search out the history of this song. I believe that Barbara Striesand sang it once.

I don't feel this song is associated with any one man in my life. I've been divorced for a very long time — have been in several long-term relationships with men — but, my one true love seems to elude me — there is a great ache in my soul to find "the one man" to share the rest of my days left on this earth — to give and receive the unconditional love, compassion, and care that we all deserve and desire in this life.

The kind of love I am willing to sacrifice my life for — to give my last ounce of being to save his life if need be — to be humbled and honored to bathe his naked body should he become sick and weak — to comfort him and tell him everything will be okay — to say, "I am here my love. It is okay to cry, I will hold you, I will make you feel better" — to whisper, "Hush, hush my baby, my sweet, strong, good man. Hush, hush my love close your eyes now. Close your eyes and go to sleep. I will not leave you. I will hold you till you wake and we will begin again tomorrow or wherever we will be. Hush, shhhha…" — to feel my breath kiss his forehead and say "I love you forever."

What does it mean this song? — Is it about me? — that part of me is here, grounded — and part of me is hanging around watching me try to walk, or climb, or crawl — part of me is able and wants to fly, but can only linger struggling not to fall — We both look around dreading the clowns to show their nightmarish faces —wait for the clowns that laugh and mock us — dread the clowns with their false, phony, play — their happy pretense at joy to fool us — pretending we are okay, happy, and good — hiding us inside their facade — covering our hearts — smothering our truth — joking aside our hurt with the wave of a cold gloved hand — no sound for us — no laugh to free our spirit.

"Don't bother they're here" — they've always been here with us — they will always be here — have there ever been happy clowns? — someone told us they used to be here, the happy clowns, a long, long time ago — "Where are the clowns… we mean the happy ones?" — "We don't know. We only know the sad clowns. They're the ones around here now for as long as we can remember."

"Oh, so is that why we can't fly, we can't soar?" — "Will the happy clowns ever come back here?" — "We've been looking for a long, long time." —- "Some say we should just give up because the happy clowns will never come here again." — "Others say keep looking. The happy clowns were here once, and they will come back here one day." — "What do you say?" — Sometimes we say "We don't know." — Sometimes we say "We don't care, and we're tired of looking."

Every once in a tiny little while we hear someone else say they heard the happy clowns are already here. It's just no one's seen them yet."

Some even say they've seen us flying, soaring even, because there are no clowns at all.