The last several weeks have been a whirlwind between Ireland, Santa Cruz, and Nashville.

BUT—

Before I even get to that, if you haven’t already supported the new project I’m kickstarting, we have less than two days left to reach our goal. 

Here is the link.

I left for Ireland in early April, and left 2 weeks ago this morning. My mate Sammy Horner and I hosted my Mercyland Songwriting Workshop for the fourth time in the little town of Gorey, and this year, I made sure I had a few days to shake off the jet lag before diving into the rewarding and hard work of mentoring songwriters.

Each year, the town officials welcome all the attendees with a reception, replete with little girls performing Irish dances, Celtic harpists, and speeches from Gorey representatives, followed by a word from myself and Sammy.

These days, when traveling across the pond, I know that many whom we encounter in other lands are wondering what is becoming of America. The face of our country as they knew it has changed. Not to mention how our governmental decisions are affecting gas prices and availability. I get asked a lot of questions, like “Are you okay?” and “Are you safe?”.

In my word to the citizens of Gorey, I made a brief acknowledgment of the worry that I encounter when crossing borders. I said I perceived the welcome we Americans received as a token of hope for our people, that a change for the better will occur sooner than later.

I made clear that I was speaking for myself, because I couldn’t be certain that every American in the workshop shared my feelings, and I wanted to be respectful of them.

I’m trying to learn to move in and with grace, not something I’ve always concerned with.  My workshop is called “Mercyland”, and that alone is a reminder to give grace when possible.

One of our Ireland attendees has come for four straight years, which tells me that I’m doing something right, something beyond my songwriting expertise. He and one of the Irish attendees have, in the past, battled out their political differences online in the public arena. At the commencement of our annual workshop, I worry a little, hoping that their disagreements will not surface at the workshop.

This year, no grievances were aired, for which I was grateful.  Each of them was kind to the other, perhaps remembering that they are “Mercylanders”, and have a name to live up to. A name that includes the word “Mercy” shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. “Christian” is a similar word, isn’t it? A name that includes the word “Christ” seems to beg for a certain essence from whoever takes on the name. But these days, “Christian” is a word that many are uncertain of, in terms of what to expect. Is the person identifying as such a person of goodwill? A nationalist? Prejudiced?

When my sweetheart Jenny and I first met, the word “Christian” came up, and it gave her pause, because most of the “Christians” she knows have far more interest in expressions of division, exclusion, and self-interest than in the words of The Beatitudes.

There are borders all over the place, boundaries that we sometimes can’t perceive unless we trip over them in conversation. We never know how a simple remark can trigger outrage and the termination of a conversation or even a relationship. Times are tricky, aren’t they?

Maybe, like me, you’re trying to find the merciful path, a path that doesn’t avoid the truth, yet still hopes for a bridge to meet on.

I’m at the end of nearly two weeks in Ireland. I flew over a few days before conducting my songwriting workshop, Mercyland, with my brother from another mother, Sammy Horner. We greased the wheels of a creative track by co-writing a few songs before everyone showed up from several countries.

As is usually the case, the workshop was a success. What does that mean? Well, a few things. For one, everyone co-wrote 6 songs during our intensive 3 days together. Most importantly, everyone left with a sense of belonging to a community.

It’s been happening that way for the last 7 or 8 years, because the workshop is designed to encourage folks, who likely have never met before, to drop their guard and get real. Consequently, Mercylanders have become life-long friends who’ve shown up at each other’s weddings and celebrations, and funerals.

Everyone carries pain and sorrows; some wear it on their sleeves, and others internalize, but the workshop creates a safe place to land for anyone who wants to allow the group to see their scars up close.

Friendship is all about the scars, isn’t it? Even if you’re reluctant to face or reveal your pain, most of your friends are well aware of a layer beneath your surface, just by being with you. Some of us ask what’s going on, while others wait for you to become aware of what’s apparent to the rest. The word “forebearance” comes to mind.

Long-term friendships occasionally entail awkward interactions and pratfalls, but hopefully there is a measure of long-standing grace and communication to get us through them.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to take another’s viewpoint less personally than in the days when I might take it as an attack. I reckon everyone’s journey to be unique to them. It reminds me of the different kinds of churches I’ve gone to over these many years. Most of the churches I attended (when I attended more than I now do) were insistent that everyone was on the same page regarding doctrines and contexts. “If you don’t believe such and such, this isn’t the place for you” was the message.

And they were right. That kind of place isn’t right for me, or anyone else who has enough faith to question things. There was a time when I might have felt the same way about religion; that the condition of your soul was determined by exactly what you thought about this or that.

My faith and my relationships have expanded by my willingness to accept another soul’s journey. The indoctrination of my earlier years caused me to worry about someone’s spiritual state, whereas I’ve now come to accept them for whatever mile marker they’re on on the Journey Home.

Relationships are hardest when it comes to politics, because so much is on the line when it comes to who gets elected. It’s a little harder to summon the grace to see those with opposite opinions of mine as having valid, changeable journeys. I wonder if they hope for me in the same way I hope for them?

My annual journey to Ireland is always enlightening. On April 2, I arrived in Dublin knowing that the gas shortage here is connected with decisions made by my government. While I’m here, I’ll even apologize if the opportunity presents itself. America is just one big, dysfunctional family, and I make it clear that I’m aware of how we look to the world, a world who sees us more clearly than we likely see ourselves.

The Mercyland workshop is a microcosm, just like a band is, or a family is, of a bigger picture. The Irish Mercyland is even more poignant regarding who we are in the world, because we have folks from the US, the UK, and Greece, not to mention Ireland. It’s funny how a group of people who have no true power will go out of their way for the well-being of others, no matter where they’re from. I wish governments knew how to do this. I’m old enough to remember when allies indeed cared for each other. To what end shall we use power if not to the end of goodwill?

Tomorrow, Sammy will drive me to Dublin airport, and I’ll check in, go through customs via Global Entry, and scan my US Passport, which will designate me as unique to one country.

But I hope to keep looking past our differences when it comes to my fellow travelers.

I’m learning that seeing beyond borders often makes for success in relationships.

Photo by Stacie Huckeba

Last night in Ireland, our host Sammy Horner suggested watching the short film “The Singers”, as he believed it to be inspiring — a vignette that takes place in what some call a dive bar.

Watching as the love of singing overwhelms the down-and-outers of the bar was inspiring to me, and it made me reflect on why I keep singing and recording, and even on why I have written yet another book.

It’s hard to distill these thoughts into a single shot of meaning, but since I am once again trying to put new music and writing out into the world, I’ll try.

Especially at this moment in history, humanity is overwhelmed, not by song nor joy, but by the constant stream of bad news, fear, and uncertainty. If we can see the good that is right before our eyes, our uncertainty in the things we can’t control can be tamed by the beauty of the small gifts we can give each other.

The older I get (74 this month), the more incumbent it is on me to make a lasting impression in the name of love. Can I make a listener laugh? Cry? Love? Celebrate? Reflect? Change? Dream?

I hope so.

I don’t remember living in a more conflicted time than this present day. Friendship is challenged by social media’s temptation to tell the world exactly how you feel about everything in every moment. We didn’t know how much we disagreed with a friend until we collectively started feeding the urge to bare our emotions online.

With that in mind, if I have to have a reason to put music out in 2026, let it be because I hope we can find reasons to build the bridges we’ve burned for the last 20 years. I want to remember the things I love about old friends who see the world in high contrast to my vision.

It’s been said that the best fiction comes from true life. The same can be said for the best songs, and I’m hoping the lyric stories in these new collections can bring a person face to face with things to be thankful for, even the hard lessons of life.

The Hard Lessons… “Summer Of Gone” is all about the hard lessons, but more so about the people who ferried me across those difficult waters. Where would I be had I not gone through the pain and loss that I’ve experienced in 74 years of what I think is a wonderful life?   

Tell me a great story that has no conflict. Can’t be done.

This artist’s response to dark days is hopefully a way of thanking his task-masters. Learning to see one’s cruel enemy as one’s astute teacher can be a gift. Some of my work is a thank-you note to those teachers.

I keep putting on my traveling shoes. Every year, I crowdfund new music. I have a handful of folks who are eager to support, and it’s beyond doubtful that my audience will grow much beyond the handful. I write for myself and I write for them. I write for you. We’re all walking in the same shoes. Whether they’re fine Italian loafers, Acme boots, or Goodwill castoff sneakers, we’re making our way to the same end, and no matter what each of us thinks The End entails, I’d like to think I’m bringing you something of comfort and light for however many miles we have to go.

Thanks for reading and listening.

Greetings from Ireland~

Hi, friends! I just arrived in Dublin, and have made my way down to the east coast beach town of Courttown, where my friends Sammy and Kylie Horner live. Sammy and I will conduct next week’s Mercyland In Ireland songwriter workshop in nearby Gorey.

As I’ve been in the formal editing stages of SUMMER OF GONE, my upcoming memoir of loss and grief, I realize that there are quite a few chapters that take place outside of America, in fact, one chapter takes place here at Sammy and Kylie’s place.

Another chapter takes place in Oslo with my friends from the band Humming People, and yet another takes place in Oslo and Stockholm with my daughters. Of course, Emmylou Harris and Her Red Dirt Boys figure into the story, too, as we traverse much of the US with the eternally pouting John Mellencamp.

Just as a painter will step back from the canvas to see what’s being rendered, an author can step back from the written word and see meaning that wasn’t consciously intended.

SUMMER OF GONE takes the reader on a trip, indeed, through the stages of grief, but it also serves to remind us that community and friendship are the most important things that can get us through the most difficult episodes of life. I’ll leave it to you to read the book for yourself, but it’s important to say that the characters in the book run the gamut of the word “character”, from naysayers to champions. I can’t imagine going through the conflict that the book focuses on without the dear friends who were present for me as things raged beyond my control.

Conflict is imperative for any good story. My story is jammed with friends  who carried me across the shifting tides of grief.

To view the Kickstarter Campaign, click: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/philmadeira/phil-madeira-the-millionth-mile-and-more-miles

Be grateful for your friends!