You don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows
Subterranean Homesick Blues, Bob Dylan

Jack Kerouac wrote The Subterraneans in 1958 about his short relationship with Alene Lee in Greenwich Village, following his success with On the Road. Some say the novella inspired Dylan to write Subterranean Homesick Blues in 1965 which, in turn, inspired the Weathermen who, in 1969, became first active on the University of Michigan Campus as Weather Underground.

Something you always wondered about: how on earth are all of these things connected?

I only found out yesterday afternoon, and by pure chance .

It’s like Strawberry Fields Forever or Wagon Wheel (also written by Bob) – you can try forever to understand the meaning of the words, and probably fail. Or you can try to capture, feel the sentiment. That’s what connects the book with the song and the organisation.

They all are about attitude, a culture, and the expressions of a generation.

Yesterday, we went out to Djouce in Wicklow for one of those fabulous mountain walks we had been on years ago.

Somehow and unfortunately, things had changed.

I must admit, there was a moment when I thought how I was going to dismantle those barriers that prevented Pádraig and us to access the trails.

We tried three different parking lots, each with different access gates, each impossible to get through with a wheelchair, never mind with Pádraig’s one.

When you want to do something and it doesn’t work out it’s sometimes better to try a different way, rather than keep banging your head against that wall.

We went to Powerscourt Waterfall instead, just a few kilometres away.

It was fabulously beautiful.

The walk in the fresh air cleared our heads, mine included.

I’m with Dylan.

I don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. – Pádraig has been doing that every day for the past 10+ years.

I’m also with Kerouac:

The only people for me are the mad ones: the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who… burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles.

If we want to live, we cannot waste the little time we have struggling with idiots who put up gates that let some people in but lock us out. With idiots who’ll never get which way the wind blows. With or without a weatherman.

We will find another way to do what we want to do: live, talk, save, desire – everything at the same time.

Burn, burn, burn.

Live, live, live.