Nothing behind me, everything ahead of me, as is ever so on the road.
Jack Kerouac, On the Road

As the Titanic sank, the band kept playing.

Faced with the ultimate adversity, the musicians could not change what had happened. They could not keep the ship afloat. But they could offer something to the people around them: music, a little calm, and the knowledge that they were not alone. Support. Solidarity. Community.

I have been thinking about them today.

Two long-standing expert friends from Germany came to work with Pádraig and others at An Saol. They have known him for years. They have seen what he can do, and they have continued to come back, to share their experience and to find out what else might be possible.

Today they worked with him in the Hocoma Andago, a device that supports him while he stands and moves.

For the first time, Pádraig pushed himself up in the Andago until he was standing straight.

Then he pulled his left leg back and gave the ball in front of him a big kick.

After the session, our two friends and I went up to Belfast to see the Titanic Experience. There, we stood in front of the original violin played by Wallace Hartley, the bandleader who kept playing as the ship sank.

It is hard to explain what Pádraig’s kick meant to those of us watching. Standing straight and kicking a ball are things most people do without giving them a thought. For Pádraig, each part of that movement took effort. And none of us had seen him put those parts together like that before.

There is a danger in calling something like this a miracle. It can make it sound as if it came out of nowhere.

It didn’t.

Pádraig did the work today. Behind that moment are years of work by him and by the people who have stood alongside him: people who have helped him practise, who have paid attention to what he is trying to do, and who have given him another chance to try. Our friends from Germany are among them.

I don’t know what Pádraig will do next time he gets into the Andago. I hope he will kick the ball again. I hope he will stand even taller. But today does not need a promise about tomorrow to matter.

Today he stood straight. He pulled back his leg. And he gave that ball a big kick.

The band will play on. Never stop.

All real living is meeting.
Martin Buber, I and Thou

Pádraig likes spelling out words. He doesn’t do it often enough. Not because of any fault of his own, but because we don’t give him enough opportunities to do so. Though we are trying.

When he does spell words, it is a simple but very powerful demonstration of the fulfilment and joy that communication can bring.

He does it letter by letter, selecting each one from an alphabet chart. Often, there are a few people standing around him, all trying to guess, after each letter, which word he is spelling.

Whether he introduces ambiguity on purpose or it happens entirely by chance, I don’t know. Whatever it is, it is a source of enormous entertainment. He couldn’t enjoy it more.

Last Friday, he finished his sessions at An Saol a little earlier than usual. We asked what he would like to do with the spare time.

So he spelled out H – O – and everybody shouted: “Going H-O-M-E!”

Big smile.

He continued. The third letter was not an M but a T, followed by an E and an L.

What on earth did he want to do in a hotel at lunchtime?

You’re right. What else?

L – U – N – C – H.

I might have told you before about another memorable spelling experience.

We had asked him to describe different family members in one word.

One description started with S – M – A – and everyone shouted: “SMART!”

He did not continue with an R and a T, but with two very different and entirely unexpected letters—and a huge smile on his face.

I’ll leave you to guess the word. But you now know better than to call it out before all the letters are in.

Those moments demonstrate what life is all about: enjoyment and fun in simple yet profound shared experiences, full of spirit and humour.

We need to look out for those moments—and cherish them.

Buber was right, of course: all real living is meeting—and sometimes that meeting happens one carefully chosen letter at a time.

And perhaps the same is true not only of words, but of lives: we should never decide how they will end before all the letters are in.

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Together, they made the impossible possible.

Lives can change in a split second.

We can’t go back and change the beginning. But we can start where we are and change the ending.

It’s up to us.

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.