Fred Astaire – a childhood idol. My father danced too. I have been thinking about proprioceptive quite a bit lately – arranging and organising the body, its various components, in meaningful sequence and permutations, within a specific but fluidly changing space, time and situation. I remember when I tripped and fell on Lucy, and the young couple passing by with their irritating yapping small dog laughed at me, instead of helping me up. I recall that earlier tonight, as I was walking Lucy, a young man heckled at us, repeatedly chanting, “Greyhounds should be muzzled!” I turned and glared disdainfully at him, but I had no words to speak, though my head was spinning with word stims. I had to grip hard on the leash and touch Lucy’s back to maintain my balance as we crossed the road, away from the mockery. My legs disconnected with my brain, they performed independently, so it felt. All I could see were Lucy’s dainty black paws elegantly stepping forth. My torso followed, not feeling my feet at all. Keep the rhythm, or you’ll fall. That was all. Fred Astaire dances on in my head. I need to dance with myself in order to walk. Does that make sense to you?

I leave you with this thought on proprioceptive idiosyncrasy. A poem I wrote in 2013.

I dance because

I cannot walk

The ground

It is too strange

I must count

One, Two,

One, Two, Three.



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