Mike Brown makes juggling look easy. It isn’t. Juggling, at its core, is a paradox. It is both chaos and control, effort and ease, movement and stillness.
For thousands of years, humans have tossed objects into the air — not just for entertainment but as a form of meditation, mastery, and expression. The art of juggling sits at the crossroads of art and science, and of physics and philosophy, where gravity becomes both adversary and ally and where balance is achieved not by stillness, but by motion.
Brown has been juggling for more than 40 years, ever since he bought his 13-year-old stepdaughter, Gretchen, a juggling book and some balls for a Christmas gift. To encourage her, he wanted to master the basics, so he worked tirelessly all day, for 14 or 15 hours, focusing on tossing and catching the one-pound balls over and over again.
The next day, Brown could hardly move. He was stiff, and his arms, neck, and back ached. He calculated how many times he had thrown the balls in an hour, and realized that he had effectively tossed and caught 30 tons.
Despite the aches and pains, and the fact that the teenager could not have cared less, Brown persevered and mastered the technique with not just balls, but also with clubs, knives, swords, and fire. “I’ve been hooked ever since,” said Brown.
Over the years, he has juggled at street fairs and community events, but now he coaches others who want to learn how to juggle. His next juggling workshop for novices and those with experience will be tonight at The Old Gallery, 14863 Hwy 7 in Allenspark, from 5:30 to 7:30 p.m.
The workshops are family-friendly, and tonight’s session may offer the opportunity to juggle with wooden swords and practice stage combat choreography.
Dancing with gravity
Watching a juggler in action appears to be all about objects in motion. But to a true practitioner, it is about rhythm, timing, and mindfulness. A juggler’s “pattern” — whether the classic three-ball cascade or a complex club routine — is a dance with gravity. Each throw and catch must be precise, and yet relaxed.
In Zen philosophy, enlightenment often comes through repetitive, focused practice — what is known as zazen, or sitting meditation. Juggling offers a similar state of flow. The hands move, the eyes track the rhythm, and the mind quiets. In that space, the juggler is both fully engaged and completely detached.
Psychologists call this “flow state” — a term coined by Mihály Csíkszentmihályi to describe moments of total immersion in a task. Jugglers experience this when their body takes over the task and their conscious mind steps aside. The pattern sustains itself, and time seems to disappear.
In teaching the basics of juggling, Brown says it is important to “know the difference between what you intend to do, what you think you’re doing, and what you’re actually doing. A lot of times we intend to do one thing, and we think we’re doing something, and it turns out, what we’re doing is not at all what we think we’re doing, or what we intended to do.”
For the frustrated novice, Brown instructs that “it is better to do the right thing badly than to do the wrong thing well” as he tosses some balls in the air effortlessly, or so it seems. He deconstructs the process and tells the beginner to count how many balls are in the air and describe what his hands are doing. He then offers advice on the right way to flip the wrist, the proper stance, and the best position for the arms.
Jugglers quickly learn that dropping is part of the process. There is no perfection without imperfection. In Zen, this acceptance of failure mirrors the concept of wabi-sabi — the beauty of impermanence and imperfection. The fall of a ball is not the end of the pattern but part of its rhythm.
Brown knows something about Zen. In addition to coaching people on juggling, he teaches tai chi at The Old Gallery in Allenspark and at the Estes Valley Recreation Center.
Like juggling, tai chi is an ancient practice. It involves gentle meditative exercises that combine slow, flowing movements with deep breathing and focus. For Brown, juggling and tai chi fit hand in glove.
To juggle is to confront one’s own restlessness. The beginner’s mind, what a Zen master calls shoshin, is essential — open, curious, and unburdened by expectation. Each throw becomes a breath, and each catch, an exhale. As focus deepens, the act becomes less about control and more about surrender.
Experienced jugglers often describe the sensation of juggling as an externalization of thought. The orbit of each ball represents a thread of awareness. Balance exists when all are in motion — not because the juggler dominates the pattern, but because they are part of it.
This is why juggling transcends mere performance. It becomes a form of meditation, a way of exploring the mind through movement. Whether performed in a quiet park, under the big tent at a carnival, or in the loft of a mountain art gallery, juggling reflects a universal truth: harmony arises from motion, not stillness.
In the 19th and 20th centuries, juggling was a staple of vaudeville and circus performances, evolving into a symbol of human precision. Stars like Enrico Rastelli and Francis Brunn elevated juggling into a high art — combining athleticism, grace, and artistry.
Today, juggling has found new relevance beyond the stage. Therapists use it to improve coordination and cognitive function, and educators use it to teach focus and persistence. Some mindfulness retreats even include juggling workshops, framing it as a moving meditation.
Brown melds the practice of juggling and tai chi in practice and in a philosophical worldview.
The modern juggler stands in a long lineage of seekers — part entertainer, part philosopher, part monk. With each toss, they reenact an ancient ritual: the effort to find balance in motion, calm in chaos, and beauty in the fleeting arc of a falling ball.
In the end, juggling is not just about keeping objects in the air. It is about keeping oneself centered amid the constant motion of life. Each throw is a lesson in trust; each catch, a reminder that harmony is not found in holding on, but in letting go.
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