When the Full Moon Comes Out, So Do The F*ck'n Lunatics

I need your help to repair my sacred handpan (and restore my faith in humanity)

All I could see was red.

Watching back the Zoom recording of my Full Moon Ceremony made me feel in my body something I had only remembered feeling once in my life before…

…right before I punched a hole through a wall as a young, testosterone-fueled teenager. Probably mad at getting told to do chores or not getting to play drums or something. Who knows…

This time was a little different though. I allowed myself to feel all that rage, turned to deep sadness, followed by what I can only describe as an emptiness in my soul. A complete emptiness. I sat on my bed with the one thing that had started to bring me closure on Darwin’s death, my handpan, beside me, ringing wildly out of tune and just like me, it was clear that it too was broken.

We all do it, right?

I was just on a walk around the block the other day when I overheard this:

“Hey you. How you doing?”

“Me? Good thanks. And you…?”

How many times do you hear this canned response?

Maybe you even use it.

Maybe you use it daily.

Because it’s way easier than dumping on that poor person all the messed up bullshit that’s been swirling around in your head. How the boss has made three jobs for you while only paying you for one, how you seem to be bleeding money, unable to afford beef anymore with the cost of groceries these days and how you feel completely disconnected from everyone you once called “friends”.

All the true stories I heard last week. But I only learned these when I shared what was really going on in my life, not “oh I’m good…” when they asked. Vulnerability can be an open invitation. And the start of the healing journey.

Where I’m at.

Many of you know I lost my beloved best friend of the past decade, Darwin, last month. The grief chapter I’m in has been both the most fulfilling and rewarding, and devastating experience of my life to date. I feel like I’m all over the map and at the same time nowhere at all.

Last week, hit me like a roundhouse kick to the chest from Chuck Norris. I had just completed the most sacred and vulnerable moment of my ceremony, sharing the grief journey and the powerful role that my music has played in navigating the rising emotions, and specifically my handpan, which I had just named Darwin, in loving memory of the little 4-legged legend. Then a surely well-meaning celebration turned to absolute chaos and I didn’t even realize it until two days later.

My handpan has been assaulted. Not irreversible or “unfixable” but that’s not the point. This has been a boundary check for me. Where I allowed into my space of healing and transformation two misaligned souls who, consciously or not, dismantled the very hope, and sacredness with their choices to abuse my life’s work with heavy hands, sticks and an unwelcome nature that has me seriously considering tightening up future ceremonies. I’ve since cooled my jets and conclude that this seemingly disastrous event can actually be an educational opportunity and a path for others to join me in their own healing.

Help me get this show on the road… join my band and let’s get your message out to the world too.

I’m starting a nontraditional-artist collective to raise funds to ship, (hopefully) repair (get a replacement in the meantime), and return my most sacred instrument to a condition to help heal myself and the others I bless with my musical gifts. (Yes, if you’re an artist, you can join too! This is just especially for the non-creative, closet creatives with something to say and no idea how to do that.)

And instead of just asking for money, I want to include you in this process and create a safe container for you to express what’s really going on in your life, and with the help of me and my gift, transmute your pain into power.

Because all your life, you’ve been taught to bury it.

Smile… move on…

Never show your pain, for it is weakness.

Bullshit.

I’m really hurting, and my music is my medicine.

I know the potency of that now, having lost Darwin and the tool I was using to process his loss. The regret of my being unable to play, create, and transmute those feelings far outweighs the shot to my pride that I might feel in asking for help.

Life’s been a total bitch lately here, but I’m getting by. Because I have a strong tribe of people who care deeply about me and want to see me continue to pursue my passion of helping to heal others and allow them to be the rockstars that they truly are inside. This is the LITERAL opportunity to do that.

If you’re into it, please check this link to apply to co-write your song with me. I’m doing a sliding scale model starting at $111/song - a literal 10th of the cost to make a song with me. This is bigger than me.

Quick breakdown of your impact:

If I can help 5 folks, I can afford to ship and repair my pan.

If I can help 10, I can afford all that, plus a replacement pan to keep writing and playing

If I can help 15, I’ll be able to afford to take a little more time away from all the hustle to actually process the loss of Darwin. Right now, I’m fighting fires and burning the candle at both ends. It’s unsustainable.

More info is here. I’ve already written 4 pieces. My pen is my sword right now, and it can be yours too. I’ll leave you with that.

Thanks for being here. 💫

Mike

ps. If making a song isn’t your thing right now, I have a few other ways you can support me in getting this show on the road.

Head to miketheschwartz.com or just reply here, and I’d be happy to chat. I have a summer tour and a whole lot of love to give, and I’m really leaning on the tribe right now to help me recalibrate and come back even stronger.