I wake early but I’m still covered with night. You know the feeling—a dream book fans its pages while you drink coffee or bend to tie your shoes. I dreamt last night about my first guide dog Corky who has been gone now for many years. She was telling me something. She was saying its okay. I feel the dream still fanning me and I grieve. Its okay. Everything is okay. Loss is okay.
I don’t grieve because of disability. I feel sorrow because of the narrow doorways facing the disabled across the world.
Because someone made up the word “disability” do I have to distinguish it from “life”?
Its morning, blind body, wake up! Climb in the air! Follow the dream-trail of rubies on the autumn road.
I care for no other story than this: disability life is true life—the rest is fantasy. No wonder the “normal” people are so sad.
Planet of the Blind 