There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.
— Leonard Cohen, Anthem

There is no other place like Lourdes. And the contrast could hardly be greater between the town and the Sanctuary.

Where else in the world could you buy a statue of the Virgin Mary in every imaginable colour and size, made from every imaginable material—including glow-in-the-dark plastic? This year’s novelty is a model of the Virgin Mary appearing to Bernadette at the grotto, complete with real running water and an extravaganza of colourful lights.

There are canoeists making their way down the Gave de Pau. We saw a dog with a trolley in place of his injured back legs, hopping down the street with his owners—probably in search of a miracle. And there is the oldest and classiest hotel in Lourdes, the Grand Hôtel Moderne, built in 1896 by St Bernadette’s nephew and his wife.

But nowhere else in the world would you find the atmosphere of the Sanctuary.

Nowhere else would there be so many good people helping those who need their support.

Pádraig has been visiting Lourdes for many years, as have so many others in the Dublin Diocesan Pilgrimage group. It is a very special annual journey to a very special place, made with extraordinary people. It feels almost like an annual family reunion.

I have thought long and hard about the attraction Lourdes holds for us. Why have we kept coming back for so many years?

Pádraig’s first journey after he was discharged from hospital was to Lourdes. It took two days and a night by train from Diepholz in northern Germany. A special power supply had to be installed in his compartment for his PEG feed.

He was still so unwell that he could not make it to the baths. So his helpers decided that if Pádraig could not make it to the water, the water would have to be brought to Pádraig in the Accueil where he was staying.

How Pádraig’s life has changed since then.

He remembers all his friends from previous years. They come over to say hello, genuinely happy to see him again.

Too often, people are reduced to a diagnosis—to a condition that needs to be fixed.

Lourdes is different. Rather than focusing on what needs to be fixed, it is a place where love, hope and kindness make everyone feel valued and part of the community. Alive. No matter how different they may be.

The miracles of Lourdes make people feel like people.

Why this cannot be carried into our ordinary lives is a mystery to me.

The spirit of Lourdes—the light of Lourdes—should be everywhere, shining through the cracks.

Don’t dream it, be it.
Tim Curry

There was little more on the radio last week than stories about Dolly Parton and her music. She was such a towering figure that other deaths barely registered—those of Harald V, King of Norway, Ratko Mladić and Tim Curry, each of whom, in very different ways, had affected the lives of millions.

It made me think about how public attention is distributed. Some lives are celebrated across the airwaves, while others pass almost unnoticed. Yet they are no less important. We are surrounded by extraordinary lives and significant moments that rarely receive any attention beyond those directly involved.

Take those joining us in An Saol.

People who were literally written off and were not supposed to appear or register anymore outside of their green-field care facility. Where they and their families were supposed to face the fact that they didn’t require more than medication, nutrition, and hydration.

People who did not allow others to seal their fate. Instead, they decided to live their lives.

Pádraig kept walking last week, over distances of 12 metres and more.

He kept working, over a video link, with one of the world’s best, U.K.-based, therapists. He saw one of Ireland’s best eye-consultants who was very happy to see both of his eyes in perfect condition, even improving. He wrote down the answers to questions about a story he had heard.

And he saw two very different musical giants at two very different outdoor venues: The incredibly energetic traditional big band sound totally Irish band KILA at the Dublin Fleadh and the dystopian, outrageous, totally self-absorbed Weeknd in Croke Park.

More than Dolly Parton, it was Tim Curry who, in my mind, brought big, positive change to society. Think of his performance as Dr Frank-N-Furter in The Rocky Horror Picture Show, above all “Sweet Transvestite”.

When their car breaks down, Brad and Janet look for help in a nearby castle. There, they find themselves in the middle of a party—and then Dr Frank-N-Furter makes his spectacular entrance. Tim Curry performs “Sweet Transvestite” with unbelievable swagger.

Janet warns him: “This isn’t the Junior Chamber of Commerce, Brad.” Brad replies that they are probably foreigners, with ways different from their own—“probably doing some… folk dancing.”

And then Frank-N-Furter provides the answer: “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

The scene is funny, provocative and completely over-the-top. Frank-N-Furter is flamboyant, sexually uninhibited, unpredictable and entirely in control. Brad and Janet’s conventional world all but disappears. What a challenge to conventions, rules, expectations and “normal” behaviour—and that more than 50 years ago, in 1975.

Don’t dream it, be it!

Don’t let yourself be defined by conventions and the expectations of others.

Pádraig, and so many others in An Saol, eat, drink, walk, socialise and go to matches and concerts. They live their lives. It is not them, but the established health system, that needs a reality check and has to face the facts.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.
Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching, Chapter 64

When we were talking in An Saol last week about the recent news that Harry and Meghan are moving back to the U.K., together with their two kids, Archie and Lilibet, we were wondering how old Harry and Meghan are. So we asked around. Pádraig was one of the very few who knew. For Harry: 4 bleeps for the tens, one bleep for the single. For Meghan: 4 bleeps for the tens, 5 bleeps for the single years.

A week ago, he also gave us the exact day, month, and year of the birth of his two baby nephews.

Nobody had told him. Nobody had asked him to remember. He just did when he heard it in conversations.

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We heard about the Dublin City Fleadh in Smithfield by chance yesterday morning. The weather was good and we had nothing better to do. So – instead of the usual walk in the park or down the canal, we went to Smithfield.

It was a thousand times better than what we had expected. It truly was a fantastic event! Free and accessible because of both location and time. Yesterday afternoon, Wran, Altan, Dervish, and Sharon Shannon were playing. Today, Sunday, it’ll be The Scratch, Madra Salach and Kíla.

Altan introduced their first song saying that it was in our first language, Irish. And if someone didn’t understand it, it was never too late to learn the country’s first language. However, they said, they had decided to be nice and sing every second verse in English. And off they went. This was music full of longing, full of hope and energy.

A few people stopped by as they recognised Pádraig. Whoever has any doubts that Pádraig is fully clued in or might have problems with his memory, should have been there with us this morning. The joy on his face when he saw people, some of whom he had not seen in a while, was contagious and incredibly moving.

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While Smithfield brought us the magic of music and company, An Saol’s practitioners, again, walked with Pádraig in the large physical exercise space.

This is something we first did with Pádraig in Pforzheim. It is part of their treatment approach and their philosophy that their clients stand and walk at least an hour every day.

It took several years and a visit to Pforzheim with our senior practitioner but then it clicked and, for the first time in Ireland, they offered to walk with Pádraig as long as I balanced him from the back. There is, of course, still significant room to improve through practice. But this is phenomenal progress on all sides.

One step at a time.

The sun does not stop shining just because, for a moment, we cannot see it.

Like so many people last Wednesday, I took just a short peep at the sun during the 95% eclipse – and was blinded by its light for a while.

I can see the sun light up the sky
So I hit the road in overdrive
I’m blinded by the lights

At 5% of its power, the sun still knocked out my eyesight. I had expected near darkness and while it became a bit darker, it was still bright all the time.

We went to the Phoenix Park to experience this most spectacular event in company. And there weee thousands of people who enjoyed this, perhaps, once-in-a-lifetime event together.

While the sun never disappeared completely, it did get darker. We were lucky to have those special glasses which allowed us to look straight into the sun and see the moon slowly moving right across it, nearly covering it completely.

Over the past days, Pádraig also went to a wedding of one of his best friends, the groom, together with his sister whose best friend was the bride. Judging by the pictures they shared afterwards, they had a fantastic time – in the company of dozens of great friends celebrating one of the happiest moments in their lives.

As Leonhard said in London some years ago
Thank you, my friends.
We‘re so privileged to gather in moments like this
when so much of the world is plunged in darkness and in chaos:

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

Remember

The sun does not stop shining just because, for a moment, we cannot see it.

Feeling really down? Need something to chow down? Have a currywurst.
Herbert Grönemeyer

Currywurst isn’t just food. It’s a way of life. And it is so German.

You can see this in the clip with Herbert Grönemeyer singing the currywurst song. Oh Mein Gott!

Some people say that life is like currywurst. It’s all about the sauce—and you never quite know what you’re going to get.

Last week, we had plenty of it. In Garding during the Musikantenfest. On the Arche Noah.

We also got Brötchen.

I was reminded that asking for a bread roll in a German bakery is as complicated as ordering a coffee in Seattle. Too many options. And in both situations I feel like an idiot amongst all those over-confident customers in the know who, without hesitation, get their orders straight out.The truth is: you haven’t really lived until you’ve experienced both.

This is what life is all about: Currywurst. Brötchen. Schnitzel. Great walks out to the sea. Musik in Germany’s second smallest city. Wiener Schnitzel, Pfefferrahm Schnitzel, Champignon Schnitzel, Paprika Schnitzel. Currywurst 10 feet above the sandbank on the Arche Noah.

Together. In company. Alive and kicking.

What more could you ask for?

Everything has an end—only a currywurst has two.

Today is the good old days of tomorrow.
Karl Valentin

We are on our way again, as every year, from Ireland to the North of Germany.

The sign on the postcard (yes, a postcard:) says: “Your adventure starts here.”

Maybe.

By now, this journey is familiar: the ferry, the sea, the long road ahead. And still, every year, it is different.

Slightly paraphrasing Karl Valentin: “I enjoy the rain. Because if I don’t, it rains anyway.”

That is probably true for many things. The weather does not ask. Life does not always ask either. So we go.

Do you have your own “Wie auch immer”? Something that happens anyway — and where the only real choice is how you travel with it?

Wie auch immer.