To be is to be perceived (Esse est percipi).
Bishop George Berkeley (1685 – 1753)

Or, “If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, it does not make a sound”. Meaning that, basically, unless someone is there to witness something, that something does not exist. That is if you follow the Bishop’s thinking. Your seeing creates the reality. The other way around is also true: reality does not exist unless you create it.

The disasters and wars in the world exist for us, because we see the footage on our TV screens. The horror I am experiencing does not exist for others because they don’t see or experience it.

Now, sometimes, we believe what others tell us. Often because of their “authority”.

I almost believed a specialist doctor, an expert in his field, that Pádraig would have an “intolerable life” but that he could make other people’s life so much better by donating his organs.

Peter, about two thousand years ago, walked on water because he believed in himself. He believed he could do it and walk on water. When the winds became too strong and the waves too high, he began to doubt in himself, he became frightened, lost faith and hope, and he nearly drowned.

Have a look at what Pádraig managed to do over the past week. For me, he walked on water.

The first ‘first’ was pretty cool and has big potential.

Pádraig bent his knees and then pushed himself up a few times while semi-standing on a tilt-table. A brilliant, very functional exercise his therapists came up with recently.

That was wonderful. What he did next was even more spectacular.

We had asked Pádraig if he could do what he had seen someone else doing earlier in the week, someone who is also nonverbal: nodding and shaking his head for Yes and No answers. We had not tried this before because we never thought he could do it, given his relatively low head control. He surprised us. Again. – Despite the headband restricting his movements, he did it – for the first time since his accident. We will have to keep working on it. What a difference this will make for his communication!

Our reality is what we see and experience every day. It is not what some people are trying to tell us. People who seem to be somewhat out of touch with reality. Even though they see themselves as the experts.

Our reality is sometimes so surprising, so unexpected, and so brilliantly cool that walking on water doesn’t seem to be such a big deal anymore.

Once we learn not to be afraid of the wind and the waves, of what other people tell us, once we don’t allow them to make us doubt ourselves, our own believes, convictions, and capabilities, as well as our love of others, then we will be able to show the whole wide world that anything is possible, that giving up is not what we do, and that we can live our lives to the full. Walking on water is our easiest exercise.

I’m not responsible for Pillepalle.

Sign displayed in Eiderstedt, North Friesland

Sometimes I come across words I haven’t heard in decades. Like Pillepalle. Or Kladderadatsch, Penne, Papperlapapp, Abzocke, Betüddeln, Koscher, Tratschtante, Nuhastewirklichnochalle eih?

The sign denying responsibility for all totally unimportant (but possibly largely over-rated) stuff made me smile. Wouldn’t it be nice not ever to be bothered by Pillepalle?

On the ferry from Rotterdam to Hull we thought, for a moment, that we came across the Ever Given who had blocked the Suez Canal not too long ago but realised, when we looked a bit closer, that it was the Ever Green. Still an impressive ship. We had a good time on the ferry, first spending some time on deck looking at the disappearing city and harbour on the horizon, then having a great dinner. Getting off the ferry is now always a bit of a waiting game: if feels like as if they not just checked but double and tripple checked each and every passport. So much for Brexit.

The night before we got the ferry we went to see Starlight Express in Bochum. It’s the most surprising combination: Bochum, one of the Ruhr valley’s most ‘iconic’ cities with a “heartbeat of steel”, made famous by Herbert Grönemeyer’s song of the same name; and the sophisticated, fast moving, fascinating musical by Andrew Lloyd Webber staged in a breathtaking, purpose-built theatre. Since 1988 and seen by more than 18 million visitors.

It was an absolutely fabulous night. We had seats right beside the main stage literally in the middle of the action. The story is a variation of the one where the underdog makes it in the end because they believed in themselves and were loved by their friends. And it was friends who made it possible for us to stop over for the night and make an unbelievable memory together.

When the night is darkest, open up your mind
Dream begins, it’s becoming clearer
Listen to the distant, listen and you’ll find
A midnight train is getting nearer

Starlight Express, Starlight Express
Are you real? Yes or no?
Starlight Express, please answer me yes
I don’t want you to go

That Starlight Express is definitely real, it won’t go away, and it will take us to places we have never been.

We all enjoyed the break. It was really good. The change in environment, the time we were able to spend together, the slightly different perspective on life from a distance.

Last week, then, was all about getting back to reality, to exercise, to work, to routine.

The Starlight Express, though, will stay with us. We will hop on it from time to time. And we will keep dreaming. With energy and hope because we, Pádraig, will always be supported by his families and good friends.

It’s life and dreams occupying us, entertaining us, making us happy and keeping us strong.

Not Pillepalle.

Though I saw it all around, never thought I could be affected

Peter Gabriel

Sinead O’Connor’s death the week before last shook me up. I had seen her once in person during a protest march in Dublin, years ago. She had an incredible personality and near magic presence. Last week, I listened back to some of her music, including a duet she sang with Willie Nelson, Don’t give up, by Peter Gabriel. I read up a little on her very full and complex life. Sinead tried so hard to never give up. She had friends though I think she might have been terribly lonely at times. May she rest in peace.

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Pádraig went to what was almost like a mini Wacken, the world’s biggest Heavy Metal open air, which takes place over the first week(end) of August every year in a tiny village less than an hour from Tating, usually in fields of mud. Tating’s Dorffest was slightly less heavy metal but equally muddy. The music was brilliant, though not necessarily everybody’s taste, the food and the drinks were of the finest quality, Futjes, Bratwurst and Flensburger, and the company was unique.

Who needs Wacken if you have Tating?

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We tried this ourselves a few times, following what we had seen in the specialised shop where we had ordered and fitted Pádraig’s ptosis glasses. It never worked well for us, as we were trying to lift up one eyelid and then the other onto the little spring-loaded arms fitted to the glasses. The optician we visited last week knew what he was doing when he lifted both of Pádraig’s eyelids with one hand and used the other to position them onto the arms fitted to the glasses. Much better.

While Pádraig’s eyesight is good, he has trouble lifting the eyelids as his third nerve got damaged during his accident 10 years ago. Not being able to easily open your eyes and being able to see what’s going on around you is obviously a big barrier to participation. It would mean an awful lot if we managed to make those glasses work.

But not only that. When people see you with your eyes closed they instinctively believe that you are “asleep” – whether you are or you aren’t – and they treat you accordingly. We only found out about these glasses a few months ago and it took weeks to get them ordered, delivered, and fitted.

It is essential that we learn how to use them better and regularly. They make a world of a difference to Pádraig’s life.

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When I think of Germany, I think of the bakery displaying a sign, No Credit Cards, Only Cash; the filling station apologising to their customers that they cannot accept notes of 200 and 500 euro (!); the 12-page 8 point Times Roman document I had to sign when I added an international call option to my mobile phone contract; the 3-euro charge to get onto the beach; the summer beach party at the canal in Gelsenkirchen with 80-year old Schlagerstars and 20-year old fans in the audience; the Autobahn with endless ‘roadworks’ with nobody working; Karl May’s Winnetou and Old Shatterhand, friends, childhood dreams, a perfectly safe and predictable world.

When I think of the North of Germany, it’s the endless horizons. Hintern Horizont gehts weiter. And Udo’s (supported by Apache 207) first No. 1 after 50 years in the business, beating all previous top singles German records, Komet.

On our walks, we met old and new friends; Irish-type signposts; a “Kältekabine” where you test your jacket to make sure it is cold- and wind-resistant; a kite-surfer traffic jam in the sky; Husum Harbour attracting melancholic tourists longing for the liberty of the seas; fancy rest places in hammocks and a super-sized Strandkorb; ambitious therapists; and beach-going wheelchairs.

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Meaning changes in different circumstances. So does the meaning of songs.

Don’t give up
‘Cause you have friends
Don’t give up
You’re not beaten yet
Don’t give up
I know you can make it good

No reason to ever give up if you have friends who know you can make it good.

What use legs if not to take you down the road? What use eyes if not to see what lay beyond the horizon? What use hands if not to open doors?

Chris Claremont

The wind was blowing with Beaufort 8 sand not just across the bridge but into our faces and between our teeth. It was a great, very memorable adventure crossing the bridge to the Arche Noah restaurant from where we watched people being blown across the beach and kit surfers mastering the waves in places that hadn’t seen water in a long time. It was wild.

On other days, we discovered Heide’s oldest shop, selling hats. Pádraig got himself a Stetson cap. Beautiful. We had dinner in the Clubhouse of Eiderstedt’s oldest Bossel Club which had organised and played local and international matches, involving Ireland, France, and The Netherlands, commemorated by the balls hanging from the ceiling. We had a snack at the Eidersperrwerk, cake in the Schweizer Haus, and a long walk to Germany’s most famous lighthouse in Westerhever.

This past week we certainly made good use of our eyes, legs, and hands – to see beyond the horizon, to walk down several roads, and to open doors.

Life was, is beautiful.

There will be a today without a tomorrow.

Paddy Barrett

Here…

… there are familiar things. The ones I remember. Recognise. Those who bring memories.

Like the walk out across what used to be a bridge and is now often just a sand-covered boardwalk to the Arche Noah, the restaurant a mile off-shore where I spent many summers with my family, working, starting from my school-going days. The one Pádraig once urged me to buy. The one we went to with him on a day-trip from Hamburg when he had just been discharged from hospital.

Or the visit to the Tuesday evening’s Musikantentreff in Garding where the audience is often as “sehenswert” as the bands playing. Only that last Tuesday it was raining and there were few people around. Those who were, were hard core, some sharing their rain gear with Pádraig. It wasn’t quite like Wacken, were they weren’t able to handle the rain and resulting muck for the first time in the long history of the world’s biggest heavy metal open air – but it was pretty wet. Luckily, we still managed to have the crêpes, the bratwurst, and the chips.

There are the unexpected and funny things. Like the neighbour’s horse sticking out his head through the hedge just beside our place. Or the really unfortunate naming of a pizza: “Original Wagner, big city Budapest”. When that pizza came out, I’m sure nobody had heard of that privat army now threatening not just Ukraine, but other Easter and Central European, as well as African countries.

There is Pádraig’s ongoing exercise and therapy programme – with a really great OT and an amazing physio who right from the start had no problem working with Pádraig, manually transferring him and doing challenging exercises, mostly for his upper body.

Above all, the “firsts” keep coming. This time Pádraig showed us the huge difference his ptosis glasses make to his participation in and perception of the world around him. But this was not enough. He also showed us how he can take off his glasses when he has had enough of them.

Today, we listened to an interview with Paddy Barrett by Brendan O’Connor.

It was 20 minutes well spent. Paddy made a few really interesting points. Like: research has shown that we will have spent 90% of the time we will ever spend with our parents by the time we hit 18. That we often wait to make “quality time”, instead of just spending time with the ones we love. There is no “quality time”. Just time. That a lot of the things we are planning for the future never materialise. And the only people who will remember how much time we spent in the office are our children.

But the remark that really hit hard was that we need to remember that the day will come that won’t have a tomorrow. And we won’t know until there is no tomorrow.

It hit me so hard because this, for me, isn’t empty talk.

I’ve had the experience of feeling that there wouldn’t be a tomorrow for us.

It is horrifying.

It taught me that betting on life in the future is a risky business.

It is today we are living.

He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

Friedrich Nietzsche

We got onto the ferry early which was great. No queues and plenty of space to get everything organised to move up into the cabin. And what a pleasant surprise: Stena’s accessible cabin has to be recommended. Rarely are cabins that generously sized. Plenty of space to move the wheelchair around.

Although the ‘master’ requested our attendance, we decided that we didn’t need another horror movie and headed straight for breakfast.

We were off. On our way to Holyhead.

In the meantime, Pádraig’s sister was trying to complete the nearly impossible task of getting accessible tickets for the Coldplay gig in August of next year (!), sending us updates on her progress from number 202,577 in the queue to the point when, after a long hour of waiting, she finally succeeded.

Pádraig will be going to Coldplay. He was delighted.

From Holyhead, we drove to Hull and on to another ferry, which brought us overnight to Rotterdam.

Bramsche was our next overnight stop.

Instead of going up North straight away the next day, we stopped over at Made for Movement in Langenhagen close to Hanover for a few hours to meet their lead sales executive, a physiotherapist, who we had arranged to meet to try our the InnoWalk with Pádraig. While we were there, we also looked at some other devices the Norwegian company have on their books.

But the highlight was definitely the InnoWalk, a device inspired by the cross trainer we all know from the gym.

Pádraig really liked it, more than other devices he has been using. It has no harness so it’s more comfortable while all the weight is on your legs. It is a relatively new device and has few electronic gadgets attached to it. Not terribly sophisticated but with all the add-ons you’d need for movement and weight bearing. A perfect trainer.

Movement is life.

So is feeling your body.

There is a purpose and it goes way beyond the physical.

While we are still working on the how, and always will, we definitely and without a question have the why.

In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.

Shunryu Suzuki, Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: Informal Talks on Zen Meditation and Practice

There are different ways to express this concept. I only came across Shoshin and the Beginner’s Mind recently.

The mother of an An Saol Centre client mentioned to us today in the Centre that she had left a tissue with Pádraig for him to clean his mouth as she didn’t want to touch his face. Didn’t seem to be a big deal to her. Because, that’s what we do, right? When we want to clean our mouth we get a tissue or a serviette and clean it.

Only that this is not something Pádraig had done before, since his accident. For us it was a huge deal when we saw that Pádraig was well able to grab the tissue and wipe his mouth. We tried it again at home later and realised, again, that he was able to do so much more than we had expected.

We put a tissue on top of his left hand. He turned it, grabbed the tissue and wiped his mouth.

Before this, we hadn’t given him the opportunity to do this, because we didn’t think he could do anything with the tissue.

Many perceived limitations of a person are, in reality, imposed by others, by pre-conceptions, and (lack of) expectations.

It was raining last night. Summer in Dublin. Pádraig went out to see one of his favourite bands, Bell X1, in the Iveagh Gardens. Danny from the Coronas and his mother, Mary Black, were sitting next to him. During a break, Mary Black came over to say ‘hello’. I was a great, memorable night.

Pádraig met Paul Noon, Bell X1’s lead singer, in December of last year, when Paul joined us at the An Saol Foundation’s Advent Fest.

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Preconceptions, knowing what is going to happen, coming up with a diagnosis and prognosis – these are all things taught to clinicians.

One reference I found relates to a maxim coined by Dr Theodore Woodward in the 1940s: When you hear hoofbeats, think of horses, not zebras.

This is still taught as a “useful” reminder that clinicians should diagnose the common causes rather than search, at exorbitant length (and cost), for low probability causes.

I heard this expression during the long months we spent in hospitals, and many more times since, when what seems to be the most obvious prognosis is made and set in stone. Which sometime can be like a death sentence for the patient.

There other views, even in the medical world: Louise Younie wrote about the Beginner’s Mind in The London Journal of Primary Care (PubMed Central):

The concept of ‘beginner’s mind’ invites the expert medical professional to be present to their patients, remaining curious and responsive in the face of the individuality of illness. Each patient is a universe of unknowns, presenting with suffering which cannot always be classified with a diagnosis. Improvisation and openness may not just benefit our patients enduring their patient journeys but may also revive and reconnect us with our own humanity.

Like any professional, as GPs we are at risk of presumption and habitual thinking. Beginner’s mind, that is recapturing the openness and curiosity modelled to us by children, can powerfully transform the medical encounter, allowing space for emergence of patient perspective and doctor response.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the zebra is the official symbol of rare diseases in the United States.

Like rare diseases, severe acquired brain injuries aren’t rare. But they are, like rare diseases, difficult to diagnose. A firm prognosis is nearly impossible.

“Listen to the patient” because they have lived in their body longer than you have known them, and “Check your ego at the door” because patients and parents quickly become experts in their condition, should become mantras for all clinicians.

They should practice Shoshin (初心), Beginner’s Mind, a concept from Zen Buddhism which refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying, even at an advanced level, just as a beginner would.

It acts as a counter to the hubris and closed-mindedness often associated with thinking of oneself as an expert. This includes the Einstellung effect, where a person becomes so accustomed to a certain way of doing things that they do not consider or acknowledge new ideas or approaches.

Remember that, amateurs built the Ark, professionals built the Titanic, and never be afraid of to try something new.

Be cogniscient of the Dunning-Kruger effect.

There are a million opportunities. Even when the expert only sees one. Trust me.

There was a reason these boys were still alive, though. Something made them stronger than the other kids, the ones who had died in the early days, who had simply lain down and given up, unable to cope with the terrible things that were happening in the world. These boys were survivors. The will to live was stronger than any other feelings.” 

Charlie Higson, The Enemy

Standing tall is one of Pádraig’s favourites. He says, it makes him feel alive.

For the past few weeks, those working with him have used a full gym-type exercise rack with some special attachments to help him standing up.

Being a head above everybody else is what he was used to. Standing in the rack, pulling himself up, standing tall once more, must be a phenomenal experience for him. Those helping to do this are truly exceptional. I cannot think of another place in the country where they would even think doing anything close to this.

Pádraig also had another session using the Handscupe+. More about that in a minute.

Last week, Pádraig had another visit from the UCD researcher who has been experimenting with the design of a device that would allow Pádraig to do “stuff” using the fingers of his left hand which he can control pretty well. This week it was about associating the movement of a particular finger with a spoken phrase such as ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘maybe’, and ‘ask me a different question’.

It was not all about using the spoken word for communication. With Pádraig being a ‘trad fan’, the researcher thought that he would have fun playing the Uillean Pipes.

He did – and is looking forward to playing one day a few tunes with other trad fans.

Research has shown that you can think yourself to death. It’s a phenomenon called psychogenic death and has been observed specifically in persons affected by a deep trauma.

Dr John Leach, a senior research fellow at the University of Portsmouth and an expert on the topic, says that “severe trauma might trigger some people’s anterior cingulate circuit to malfunction. He believes that “motivation is essential for coping with life and if that fails, apathy is almost inevitable.”

All this means that if you really lost the will to live, you’ll die. It also means that if Pádraig had ever lost that will, he most certainly would not be with us anymore. The will to live requires love, meaning, and purpose.

There is no shortage of either of these in Pádraig’s life.

Researchers have also found that “death does not have to be inevitable even if you fall victim to “give-up-itis”. Different interventions like physical activity that can give the person some sense of regaining choice and control can break the terrible cycle by releasing dopamine.“

The Romans knew that anima sana in corpore sano. ASICS named their brand after this truth.

And the WHO has long been telling people about the crucial benefits of physical exercise.

It’s about getting physical while keeping the mind healthy. Then there won’t be any reason for “give-up-itis”.

Pádraig’s life is full of love, it is meaningful and full of purpose.

Because of that, his will to live is stronger than any other feelings. It enables him to cope with all the terrible things that happened to him and all the terrible things that are happening in the world around him.

On top of that: he inspires me and those around him.

No man’s knowledge here can go beyond his experience.

John Locke

We got where we are today because of the people who helped us along the way.

Newton wrote to Hooke, “If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of Giants”. An Irish saying goes, “Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine“.

Strangers who offered to settle hospital bills when it wasn’t clear whether his insurance would cover Cape Cod Hospital’s invoices. Who built Pádraig’s new room and bathroom. The Occupational Therapist who established communication using the bleeper. Those who fundraised over the years to allow him to have access to specialised therapies and equipment. They are countless: doctors, clinicians, family members, friends and complete strangers who have made and are making it possible for Pádraig to live his life with his severe brain injury. There is a long, long list of people who have helped him and us along the way.

There were also those whose advice would have led to Pádraig loosing out on his life – beginning with the consultant in Cape Cod Hospital suggesting that while Pádraig would have an intolerable life ahead of him, he could improve many others’ lives by donating his organs.

Pádraig was never going to eat or drink. If he did, he would probably going to aspirate, get an infection, and die. He needed medication to prevent seizures. If he didn’t take them, he could sustain further brain damage. He needed laxatives. Otherwise his digestive system wouldn’t work. He shouldn’t be helped to stand regularly. If he did, it could cause him serious harm. A standing frame we bought was not to be used.

The list of prescriptive textbook ‘expert’ and studied knowledge not just shared with us, but intended to be imposed on Pádraig, goes on.

The reason Pádraig is enjoying his food and drinks. The reason he is not on any medication. The reason he doesn’t have osteoporosis even after 10 years in the wheelchair – is not because of ‘expert’ help and advice, but despite of it – because we had enough strength not to follow it, not to give in to it, and instead trust our instinct and experience, and because we were supported by brave health professionals who were ready to follow common sense and the latest research. Even if that was not aligned with current standard practice.

The reason the An Saol Foundation Centre exists is not because the experts had changed their mind. It exists nearly against all the odds and because we found wise men and women who were prepared to take risks. Who were prepared to implement what forward thinkers propose. Who were prepared to let us challenge current practice.

The Journal and The Irish Times last week carried Pádraig’s story, reflecting on the past 10 years. How his life and that of so many other people changed because of the organisation inspired by him.

On Sundays, when we don’t go to the An Saol Centre, Pádraig stands in his standing frame at home – incredibly tall as always. We have created our own exercise programme with ‘boxing’: moving the arms to the right and the left while turning the whole upper body, or the ‘Mexican wave’: lifting both of his arms up above his head as high as possible. Supported by me at his back and a helper for each his left and his right arm. We have our own playlist and often find the perfect songs to match the exercises we all share.

Our experience has been that we are standing on the shoulders of giants.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.

Pádraig is one of them.

The nights you fight best are when all the weapons are pointed at you.

Charles Bukowski

The Journal published an article last Tuesday about Pádraig’s accident exactly ten years ago.

The last couple of weeks, and especially last Tuesday, have been hard. Everything came back. The moment when I thought this must be a mistake. The long journey from China to the Cape. Seeing Pádraig for the first time after the accident: connected to tubes, machines blinking, drugged to his ears to keep the pain away and blank out the memory, his head in a white bandage like a mummy, and the black hand-written warning on it: No Bone. My body was being flushed out again, as if someone had plugged the cord. There it was again: the feeling of utter helpfulness in the eye of a catastrophe.

When he was talking about his daughter Peaches, Bob Geldof once said, “Time does not heal, it accommodates – but it ain’t accommodating this.” Though you can learn how to live with it, if you are lucky.

Pádraig has learned to live with his injuries. I have learned to live with it. Most of the time we cope. Sometimes, we do better, we see meaning and purpose, we enjoy life and have fun.

We went away to Tramore, a very traditional holiday destination in Ireland’s sunny southeast. It was good to be away that day. Tramore turned out to be pretty sad, with boarded-up houses and shop fronts, a worn out, tired looking amusement park at the beach front, and the distinct smell of fish and chips blown by a stiff wind across the promenade. The weather was anything but sunny. The place reflected our mood.

We remembered how desperate we were 10 years ago. How lucky we were to be together now, in a hotel, beside the sea, having a nice dinner and a healthy breakfast.

Ten years on, I’m not struggling that much anymore with the accident and what it did to Pádraig, but with what happened after it.

Accidents, as bad as they can be, do happen. There is not much we can do about that. But what happens afterwards is under our control, it is our responsibility. In my mind, there have been very few people who accepted their responsibility, the role they played in the context of that accident. That includes the police, the City of Brewster, the State of Massachusetts, the insurance company, doctors and clinicians. I mean, we had to set up our own rehab facility to give Pádraig and others like him the care they need and have a right to access. There has never ever been a contact, never mind an apology, from the driver, Mr Couto.

The accident was devastating. The injustice is infuriating. Pádraig’s resilience is an inspiration.

This week, he continued to try out new exercises in the gym rack we installed. We are trying to get closer to the duration, frequency, and type of exercises recommended by the WHO for the past decades – for everybody.

I might have mentioned that I have been a fan of Charles Bukowski for a very long time. When I was in my teens, he was the cool guy, the cool name to drop – even though I didn’t really get then what he was on about. It took time. I read one of his poems again and realised that today, I am ready to become a brother of the tender sister of joy. And move on. Regardless. Of all the weapons being pointed at me. Of voices hurling their insults. Of the dream being strangled. Of the game being fixed and the laughter of fools filling the air. Regardless.

The nights you fight best are
when all the weapons are pointed at you,
when all the voices hurl their insults
while the dream is being strangled.

The nights you fight best are
when reason gets kicked in the gut,
when the chariots of gloom encircle you.

The nights you fight best are
when the laughter of fools fills the air,
when the kiss of death is mistaken for love.

The nights you fight best are
when the game is fixed,
when the crowd screams for your blood.

The nights you fight best are
on a night like this
as you chase a thousand dark rats from your brain,
as you rise up against the impossible,
as you become a brother to the tender sister of joy

and move on 

regardless.