Nicely written. There is mention of the razor's edge in Buddhist literature. I believe that's what you are describing here. That state of mind that remains aware of the show but does not fall into either the side of mindless participation and hope or the side of the nihilistic clowns.
There's something powerful in that image—being brought to your knees not in defeat but in recognition. The tears and wrinkles you mention are emblems of lived experience, of having truly engaged with the world rather than merely observing it.
What touches me most is your mention of "fighting for and with all of us." That's exactly what this work aims to be—not a solitary performance but a collective meaning-making. Not just my notes from the circus, but an invitation for all of us to write our own.
The possibilities you mention—that's where the hope lives, isn't it? Not in some guaranteed outcome but in the potential that exists in the space between what is and what might be. In that creative tension where meaning gets made.
Thank you for being in this struggle together, for recognizing both the tears and the possibilities. The center holds because people like you help hold it.
Four happenings for me all at once: stopping to read your thoughts, cleaning my Airbnb, helping a neighbor (who happened to vote for Trump) and packing the car for a resistance meeting👍😎
Love your comment. This morning, I was stunned with Mike's post last night about Ayn Rand, followed by an extensive discussion with my wife about many thoughts provoked by the same. Stimulating conversation to say the least. Then, this morning's post 'The Sun is Rising'. Mike is always on point, for me. Wishing to reply or repost to the Ayn Rand rant, I simply entered my repost with the following comment:
“I Can See Clearly Now” is a song written, composed, and originally recorded by Johnny Nash:
Thank you, Andrea! That one was actually one of my most favorite moments of writing. I felt pretty emotional while crafting it—here's something about that moment before the spectacle begins that feels so vulnerable and true.
To pull back the curtain a little, I was deliberately playing with different registers throughout—weaving between analysis, narrative, myth, and emotion. The tension between these modes is actually part of the meaning I was trying to convey. Just as the people at the ticket booth exist in that space between knowing and participating, the piece itself tries to inhabit multiple spaces simultaneously.
There's meant to be meaning in the structure itself—the way observation shifts to storytelling, then to something more mythic, before returning to that intimate moment of the note being passed. I'm not sure if that layering comes through, but it's heartening to hear it gave you "good chills." That's exactly the kind of embodied response I was hoping might emerge from that tension.
Your reaction means a lot—it suggests something in that particular piece managed to transcend mere description and touch something more essential about our shared condition.
Yes, Mike, I felt this when reading it. I felt the edge-work as participatory. It expressed the feeling of these times we are in, and it is a practice within itself, to engage in the writer-and-reader tension of being in this space together, of needing one another to better understand it, and of these notes we are all sending out into the world, and the responses that are coming. Very beautiful work.
I have read this three times today. The time I read it aloud to myself, I cried. What you offer in your writing helps me find the space within myself to pay attention to my center, and to also be in the presence of the everything of the right now, and you have helped me immensely. Thank you so much.
Thank you for sharing something so personal. The image of you reading these words aloud to yourself—reaching that point where emotion breaks through—is profoundly moving to me as a writer.
What you've described captures exactly what I hope these pieces might do—not just to be read, but to create a space where something happens. A moment where the interior landscape meets the exterior territory and something shifts.
"The space within myself to pay attention to my center"—what a beautiful articulation. That's precisely where meaning lives, isn't it? Not in retreat from "the everything of the right now," but in finding that still point from which to engage with it fully.
Your response reminds me why this work matters. Not because it provides answers, but because it helps create that space where each of us can hold our own tensions more consciously, more completely.
Thank you for being a partner in this meaning-making. The center holds because people like you do the work of holding it—in your reading, in your feeling, in your own quiet attention to what matters.
Thank you for your kind and thoughtful response. Since early November, I've been struggling to find others in my local community who are willing to engage in these spaces. I’ve found very few, which can feel lonely, and I am pretty sure the ongoing tyranny is the primary cause of what I see as an erosion of intimacy. The anxiety created by this regime's actions is succeeding in isolating people from themselves, and one another, at a time when both kinds of relationships matter most of all. So again, I appreciate what you offer here.
Nicely written. There is mention of the razor's edge in Buddhist literature. I believe that's what you are describing here. That state of mind that remains aware of the show but does not fall into either the side of mindless participation and hope or the side of the nihilistic clowns.
If I were healthy enough I would be on my knees right now. I can easily cry though! So in my head I’m on my knees in gratitude for the light.
I have earned every wrinkle on my face and every tear that drops down it.
Again and again, thank you Mike for fighting for and with all of us!❤️☮️ & POSSIBILITIES!
“Feel the solid ground beneath your feet. Breathe the clear morning air. Remember what's real.”
There's something powerful in that image—being brought to your knees not in defeat but in recognition. The tears and wrinkles you mention are emblems of lived experience, of having truly engaged with the world rather than merely observing it.
What touches me most is your mention of "fighting for and with all of us." That's exactly what this work aims to be—not a solitary performance but a collective meaning-making. Not just my notes from the circus, but an invitation for all of us to write our own.
The possibilities you mention—that's where the hope lives, isn't it? Not in some guaranteed outcome but in the potential that exists in the space between what is and what might be. In that creative tension where meaning gets made.
Thank you for being in this struggle together, for recognizing both the tears and the possibilities. The center holds because people like you help hold it.
❤️
Thank you, Mike.
Four happenings for me all at once: stopping to read your thoughts, cleaning my Airbnb, helping a neighbor (who happened to vote for Trump) and packing the car for a resistance meeting👍😎
Love your comment. This morning, I was stunned with Mike's post last night about Ayn Rand, followed by an extensive discussion with my wife about many thoughts provoked by the same. Stimulating conversation to say the least. Then, this morning's post 'The Sun is Rising'. Mike is always on point, for me. Wishing to reply or repost to the Ayn Rand rant, I simply entered my repost with the following comment:
“I Can See Clearly Now” is a song written, composed, and originally recorded by Johnny Nash:
genius.com/Johnny-nash-…
Thank you!
Unfortunately, the link didn’t work for me☹️
Sorry, copy/paste may have misbehaved. Try this:
https://genius.com/Johnny-nash-i-can-see-clearly-now-lyrics
👍❤️it!!
This one gave me chills, good chills :)
Thank you, Andrea! That one was actually one of my most favorite moments of writing. I felt pretty emotional while crafting it—here's something about that moment before the spectacle begins that feels so vulnerable and true.
To pull back the curtain a little, I was deliberately playing with different registers throughout—weaving between analysis, narrative, myth, and emotion. The tension between these modes is actually part of the meaning I was trying to convey. Just as the people at the ticket booth exist in that space between knowing and participating, the piece itself tries to inhabit multiple spaces simultaneously.
There's meant to be meaning in the structure itself—the way observation shifts to storytelling, then to something more mythic, before returning to that intimate moment of the note being passed. I'm not sure if that layering comes through, but it's heartening to hear it gave you "good chills." That's exactly the kind of embodied response I was hoping might emerge from that tension.
Your reaction means a lot—it suggests something in that particular piece managed to transcend mere description and touch something more essential about our shared condition.
Yes, Mike, I felt this when reading it. I felt the edge-work as participatory. It expressed the feeling of these times we are in, and it is a practice within itself, to engage in the writer-and-reader tension of being in this space together, of needing one another to better understand it, and of these notes we are all sending out into the world, and the responses that are coming. Very beautiful work.
I have read this three times today. The time I read it aloud to myself, I cried. What you offer in your writing helps me find the space within myself to pay attention to my center, and to also be in the presence of the everything of the right now, and you have helped me immensely. Thank you so much.
Thank you for sharing something so personal. The image of you reading these words aloud to yourself—reaching that point where emotion breaks through—is profoundly moving to me as a writer.
What you've described captures exactly what I hope these pieces might do—not just to be read, but to create a space where something happens. A moment where the interior landscape meets the exterior territory and something shifts.
"The space within myself to pay attention to my center"—what a beautiful articulation. That's precisely where meaning lives, isn't it? Not in retreat from "the everything of the right now," but in finding that still point from which to engage with it fully.
Your response reminds me why this work matters. Not because it provides answers, but because it helps create that space where each of us can hold our own tensions more consciously, more completely.
Thank you for being a partner in this meaning-making. The center holds because people like you do the work of holding it—in your reading, in your feeling, in your own quiet attention to what matters.
Thank you for your kind and thoughtful response. Since early November, I've been struggling to find others in my local community who are willing to engage in these spaces. I’ve found very few, which can feel lonely, and I am pretty sure the ongoing tyranny is the primary cause of what I see as an erosion of intimacy. The anxiety created by this regime's actions is succeeding in isolating people from themselves, and one another, at a time when both kinds of relationships matter most of all. So again, I appreciate what you offer here.