One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.
Friedrich Nietzsche

What better place to go wild than Berlin? What better place than giving birth to a dancing star than the wild, big, diverse, chaotic capital of the Vaterland?

When Pádraig was 15, he spent about 6 months swimming with the German Olympic hopefuls in perhaps Germany’s biggest swimming and coaching centre, living in the boarders’ accommodation, and attending the school attached to the swimming complex. He has fond memories of that time, just a few years after reunification.

It was a wild trip back down memory lane.

Having navigated the colossus that is the new BER airport, having found the S9 that brought us over a nearly one-hour journey out of the airport into the city, we emerged at Alexanderplatz. On a really dark, rainy, miserable Monday night.

Luckily, it was only a 10 minute walk to the hotel we had booked and advised of the wheelchair. We first saw the green neon light with the name of the hotel, “Greet”, and then the steps. Surely, we were looking at the wrong entrance, we thought. Turned out we weren’t. In fact, there was a second flight of stairs inside the hotel before we got to the reception and the elevator.

We decided to take it easy. We didn’t have that many options anyways. Brought the bags to the room and went back out to one of the Christmas Markets around the famous TV Tower. We had twenty minutes before it closed. Time enough for a Bratwurst and a Glühwein.

It was wet. We were exhausted. There was every reason to be upset and angry and trotten down.

Instead, we had the time of our lives. I mean, we were in the capital of European history. On the very square where much of that history had taken place. The centre of famous movies and novels. Berlin Alexanderplatz.

The following day, luckily the rain had stopped, we went back to the pool where Pádraig had swum, we had lunch in the world-famous luxury KaDeWe, and we paid a visit to Checkpoint Charlie, decorated with Ukrainian flags, and a small remain of the original wall that had separated Europe for decades.

We made it back home safely. Avoided the storm that had grounded dozens of flights the previous day. And Pádraig got ready for, as it turned out, one of the best concerts ever: Amble in the Point.

It must have been some night in the sold out 3Arena.

Pádraig’s enjoyment of these wild journeys going on endless public transport trips, having long walks through huge cities, and eating Bratwurst in the rain is our motivation and keeps us wild.

He allows us to still keep that chaos in ourselves that enables us to give birth to a dancing star. We keep him safe. He keeps us wild.

I’d rather be a comma than a full stop.
Chris Martin

I am beginning to dislike the label „therapist“ and „therapy“. And I’d say that I‘m not alone.

With a severe brain injury, life seems to turn into therapy.

Rather than moving, you have physiotherapy.

When you need a good chair or a bed, you go to an occupational therapist.

For relaxation, rather than doing mindfulness, you need a holistic therapist.

Even listening to or making music is facilitated by a music therapist, rather than your pals practising with you in your parents back room or garage.

Seriously?

No wonder so many people become tired and fed up with therapy – when all they want is what all of us want and need: movement, satisfying their curiosity and sense of adventure, enjoying memories and energy brought by good music, being in the moment and relax.

No wonder so many affected people run, if they can and are given the choice, when they hear the word therapy.

Nobody said it was easy. No one ever said it would be this hard. – I had Coldplay‘s Scientist on a loop last week. Not the original version but one Pádraig played with this fantastic musician, who works in An Saol as a music therapist, on Thursday.

Life is about Participation. Inclusion. Self-Determination. Equality. Empowerment. Company. Empathy. Respect. Caring. It’s about living in community. Taking responsibility for your action and your duty to care for others. It’s about being and staying healthy.

Life is challenging to all of us. It is also exciting, joyful, and loaded with happy moments. In different ways. We just have to open our eyes. Nobody said it was easy. And yes, at times it can be that hard.

Advent

Today is the first of Advent – A Time of Hope and New Beginnings.

The An Saol Foundation celebrates Advent this time of the year, every year.

This year in the Margaret Aylworth Centre in Glasnevin, just opposite the Met Office. – All Welcome!

If you are around on Wednesday, we might see you there.

email: info@ansaol.ie to let us know if you are planning to attend

If life were fair, Dan Quayle would be making a living asking ‘Do you want fries with that?’
John Cleese

Few people remember Dan Quayle today. At the age of 41, in 1989, Quayle became the third-youngest vice president in U.S. history after Richard Nixon and John C. Breckinridge, a rank that was beaten by 40-year-old JD Vance this year, in 2025. Hey, there are some connections to the present time.

John Cleese was a guest of Brendan O’Connor’s Saturday radio show yesterday which is well worth listening back to. John talked to Brendan about Monty Python, Fawlty Towers, the power of laughter, and his reflections on what happens after death. His favourite work is The Life of Brian, says John.

He talked about the power and the effect of humour and laughter: Laughter is a force for democracy. It’s almost impossible to maintain any kind of distance or any sense of social hierarchy when you’re just howling with laughter.

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Pádraig has maintained his sense of humour. He smiles about the same things, he winds us up in the same way, and he enjoys the same fun things he enjoyed prior to his accident.

He is also very generous and doesn’t get annoyed too much about “dad jokes”, even German ones – although he told me to try and keep them to a minimum.

He has been working hard to find his voice to allow him to get involved more easily in the banter and chat that he has always enjoyed so much.

There have been signs over the past years that this is happening. A good indication is that he is getting much better in controlling his breath.

Not yet producing voice or speech reliably but playing the Feadóg – with a little help from his friends.

He is also getting better controlling other parts of his body and while his playing the Bodhrán is not perfect, it’s a great start.

The increased control of his hands and arms is not just useful for entertainment but also for more essential things, like eating and drinking.

Writing people off. Saying we can’t do anymore for you. Telling them it would have been better had they died. Suggesting that they could have increased the quality of life of others by donating their organs, instead of struggling with their intolerable life. This is not just wrong. It’s utterly stupid. Nonetheless, utterly real. Word by word.

Which brings another of John Cleese’s thoughts to mind –

I think the problem with people like this is that they are so stupid that they have no idea how stupid they are.

Howl with laughter.

There’s nothing you can do that can’t be done – Liebe ist alles.
(The Beatles and Rosenstolz)

I discovered that you can not just look for your favourite singers and bands on Spotify. You can also listen to, let’s say “Bob Dylan Radio” or “Jim Croce Radio” or “Chappell Roan Radio” – which is not that singer’s radio station but a playlist that Spotify puts together for you with that singer’s music and the music of singers like the one you wanted to listen to.

Yesterday morning, I listened to “Rosenstolz Radio”, Rosenstolz being one of Pádraig’s favourite bands when he was in Berlin for his transition year. They were a German pop duo from Berlin, with singer AnNa R. and musician Peter Plate.

One of their hits was, “Liebe ist alles”, “Love is all”. Which made me think of “All you need is love”. It is, of course, a very different song with different lyrics, but both have the same message. One we all know but sometimes forget.

This is our alternative to the deceit, to the lying, to the taking advantage of others for your own good, to the just looking after number one, to the turning your head away from injustice and misery, to the complicity, and to the pretending you didn’t see.

Germans last week celebrated “St. Martin” of Tours, the Roman soldier from the 4th century, later a bishop in France, who cut his cloak in half to share it with a freezing beggar, and later dreamed of Jesus wearing the half-cloak.

Germans being Germans, they remember St Martin in style, superbly organised, in cities, towns, and villages all over Germany. I went to join this year’s procession in a small town with our grandson. Re-living my own childhood. Kids and their parents got together in the evening with their candle-lit lanterns, walked through the streets singing songs in which they remembered the good deed of St Martin. They stopped to enact the “cutting of the cloak”, and walked back to a bonfire in the school yard where there were snacks and hot drinks for everybody.

The St Martin story lives on. Pádraig’s family, friends, neighbours and even people we have never met, people around the world, have shared what they can with him. There is a whole community looking out for him. People who say that it makes them happy that they can help him.

Without this community, we would not be where we are today. I would have despaired a long time ago in the face of empty promises, a complete lack of empathy or sense of responsibility, and even direct personal attacks. All that negativity did never overwhelm us or shut us up, because of the incredible sense of support from a community that is there when we so desperately need it.

St Martin is alive and he keeps sharing. His cloak, against the bitter cold of the winter. His generosity , against the ignorance and the greed of the heartless.

All you need is love.

Liebe ist alles.

Thank you all. We know that we are not alone.

In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.
Martin Luther King Jr.

The song, Which Side Are You On, made famous by the immortal Pete Seeger was written by the wife of a union worker in 1931, after thugs broke into her home and terrorised her and her children. Her name was Florence Reece, and she wrote the lyrics on the back of a calendar after the thugs left.

We are told that every story has two sides. That it is “on the one hand” this but “on the other hand” that. And that “this” and “that” both have their justification. They are both valid. That it is all a matter of perspective.

I guess it really is. Both sides have their justification.

Though you have to make up your mind about which of these justifications work for you. Sitting on the fence is not an option.

Think Black and Tans. Think Vietnam. Think Germany in the 1930s and 40s. Think Sudan, Palestine, Israel, Russia, or Ukraine. Think how we treat the most vulnerable in our society. Think what some people get away with. Think broken promises. Think looking to the other side. Think “I didn’t know”.

Now, I believe that there is a “right” and that there is a “wrong”.

I believe that right and wrong can be determined by rational consistency. That a moral law must apply equally to all people. That morality is absolute. That if an action violates the categorical imperative, it is always wrong, regardless of culture, feelings, or situation.

I believe that there is only one correct moral answer. Like Kant, the German philosopher posited.

Because reason is universal, the conclusions of moral reasoning is also universal.

Denying people the right to a meaningful life, no matter their abilities, is wrong. Taking over land promised to the An Saol Foundation for Teach An Saol and building their own building using plans prepared pro bono by half a dozen of Ireland’s biggest companies for Teach An Saol, including the planning permission, is wrong. Declaring that young people with disabilities should not be placed in nursing homes and then shipping a 19-year-old into one, is wrong. Declaring that people with disabilities and their families should have access to respite care, and independent living, and then shifting aside Teach An Saol, offering the right support, is wrong. Not keeping promises, is wrong. Not taking responsibility, is wrong. Blaming others, is wrong. Allowing this to happen, is wrong.

The categorical imperative means that some actions are objectively right or wrong,
and their rightness comes from rational universality, not from authority or outcomes.

Because, in the end, we will remember the silence of our friends.

The silence of those who say that there are always two sides to consider. That we have to be balanced.

It is time to shout out what is right and what is wrong. We have to declare which side we are on.

PS 1:

Today, Germany remembers the Reichspogromnacht, also known as Kristallnacht — the Night of Broken Glass — which took place tonight in 1938 across Nazi Germany and Austria.

PS 2:

Today is also the anniversary of the “Mauerfall”, the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989.

“This place has been a meeting place for centuries, now Manchán’s spirit will be here.” David Clarke, the landowner.

Big crowds turn up at funerals. The month’s mind is something much more intimate. Something for the closest family.

In this case, the family was huge.

More than 2,000 people turned up for Manchán’s month’s mind. On a wet, windy, sunny day full of hail stones and surprises: an all-in-all magical day in County Westmeath on top of a hill, called the Navel of Ireland. There was a druid from Kerry, a Cree First Nation Schumann from Canada, a dozen of Ireland’s best musicians, a few of Pádraig’s friends (we had had no idea we’d meet them there), dozens of people providing shelter, cover, wheelchair pulling and pushing support through the fields and up to the top of the hill – and thousands of the best, friendliest, warmest, and kindest people, all brought together by Manchán.

It’s impossible to catch what happened there yesterday in words or in pictures.

The people were incredible and out of the world we have become accustomed to.

The gathering gave me hope. There is peace and love. Beir bua agus beannacht.

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Pádraig was not just turning heads. He turned his own head. And he is getting brilliant at it. With a little help from his friends.

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I tried to keep up with Pádraig and finished last week’s Dublin Marathon. Also with a little help and encouragement from my friends. It was an effort that proved to me that the impossible is possible if you keep at it and don’t give up. Even if it might feel like the most sensible option along the way. In the end, everybody crossing the line is a winner. Because we are all immensely privileged to be able to do this. Through wind and rain. Against the odds.

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What kept me going was the thought of Pádraig who keeps trying and keeps winning.

What he is managing to do is nothing short of sensational.

Alaska might be the last frontier.

But Pádraig has gone far beyond it.

As Eddie Vedder sang in “Rise”, Such is the way of the world, you can never know / Just where to put all your faith, and how will it grow.

We felt it yesterday on Uisneach. An ancient feeling and a connection with the earth and all and everybody around us. There is a strength of the good, of love, that will keep us going forever. There are no odds. There is no doubt.

When Liam Ó Maonlaí sang We can see clearly now the rain is gone yesterday – the clouds magically disappeared, the rain stopped, and there was nothing but blue sky.

Magic? The power of Manchán? Of us!

Every oak tree started out as a couple of nuts who stood their ground.
Henry David Thoreau

Hömma: Mucke, Pilsken, Pott, Bude. Hier wird nich lang gefackelt. Kein Gelaber, mach einfach.“

This is the language I grew up with. Ruhrpott Deutsch.

In the Ruhr region, people don’t talk fancy — but they talk honestly. Honest, direct, down-to-earth, no beating around the bush. Warm and full of solidarity — people speak “at eye level.” Humorous and self-ironic, often with a wink. Uncomplicated and practical — what must be done, must be done.

It is said that your identify forms during your adolescence, between 12 and 18 years, and you build your autonomy and develop your purpose during young adulthood, between 18 and 25 years of age.

The “Who am I?” phase.

The prefrontal cortex, responsible for planning, judgment, and impulse control, continues developing until you are about 25 years old.

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I have lived in Ireland longer than I ever lived in Germany, and more years than our children’s age. Yet, our children speak better English, and certainly better Irish, than I do. Nobody ever doubts their “irishness”, whereas a taxi driver asked me after just a few minutes in his car whether I was from the Netherlands and a Minister once stated that she always refers to me as “The German”.

What is the difference between The Irish and The German?

Is it that an English speaker in Ireland would say: “I’ll tell you the truth — but I’ll make sure you feel good hearing it.”, whereas someone from the Ruhr region would say: “I’ll tell you the truth — because you deserve nothing less.”

Both come from a community-centred culture, but they express respect in very different ways. In Ireland it’s expressed through kindness and tact. In the Ruhrpott through honesty and straightforwardness.

Language is, of course, a vehicle to express yourself, your culture and approach. Different languages are more than just different words.

So, am I German or am I Irish? – If the recent elections were an indicator, the answer would be straight forward.

While everybody in the family did, I couldn’t vote for the two candidates running for the Irish presidency.

In the past, I tried to fill in an application form to acquire Irish citizenship. However, even as someone well familiar with bureaucracy (!) and forms (!), this form was too much for me and I had to surrender, at least temporarily.

I will come back to it. I won’t give up.

I have learned that learning English and becoming fluent is not enough to speak the language as the “natives” do in Ireland. It’s not just about the words, it’s about the way you say it. The “German” in me, while fading, has not disappeared.

In my mind, I am both. German and Irish. I would like to see that reflected in my words, in my citizenship, and in the way people perceive me.

Every oak tree started out as a couple of nuts who stood their ground! I will go for it! Hau rein!

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked.
Allen Ginsberg (Howl, 1956)

An incredible coffee morning took place yesterday at our neighbour’s house, for both Pádraig and the Hospice Africa Uganda Miriam Fund, set up to support the work of Nobel Peace Prize nominee Dr Anne Merriman, who passed away in May 2025 in Uganda at the age 90. A relative of our neighbours, Anne had setup a hospice in Kampala and trained students from 37 African countries in palliative care. On her 90th birthday, just one week prior to her passing, she had received tributes from President Michael D Higgins and Taoiseach Micheál Martin.

There are times when you feel small and humble in the face of love, generosity, compassion, resilience, and pure kindness. Today was one of these days.

It was a badly-needed contrast and lift, inspirational, motivating, and inspiring, in the face of days that seem so desperate and hopeless.

It would be easy to say “what can a coffee-morning change”? – I can tell you: the tea, the coffee, the absolutely magnificent cakes, and, above all, the company and support of people who are there when you most need them, is uplifting beyond comparison.

A humongous THANK YOU to our neighbours for organising a fantastic and energising morning for us all, for those supporting people who have a right to live their lives although they have been written off by the health system. Ireland and Africa are world’s apart. But they are connected through the humanity of those who care.

I have been thinking about some lines attributed to Allen Ginsberg.

Concentrate on what you want to say to yourself and your friends. Follow your inner moonlight; don’t hide the madness. You say what you want to say when you don’t care who’s listening.

Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It’s that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that’s what the poet does.

Do I (lately) think too much about who is listening?

Is it time to make the private world public?

Is it time to Howl?

Saturday, 17 October 2025 – 11:00-13:00
85 Lindsay Road