I walk with a guide dog for the blind most of the time. Some days I travel without him. I tap the pavement with a long white stick.
Once, in Dublin, Ireland, I worked my way through the long airport and swept my cane before me and a woman grabbed me by the arm without warning.
"Where do you want to go?" she asked. She was wearing serious perfume.
"I want to go to Paris," I said.
"Oh," she said, "that’s where I am going!"
"Ah," I said, "but I don’t want to go to Paris today."
"Why not?" she asked. She was still clutching my arm.
"Because Paris is the city for restlessness," I said, "and I am not restless."
We were standing in a crowded Irish airport and for a moment we were perfectly still.
"Today," I said, "I am headed for the sea where I will become actual, sharing the form of motion."
She let me go and walked away, lost in her own body of thought.