Last night we went to the Young Vic to watch the final performance of The Valley of Astonishment. It was a co-creation of Peter Brook and Marie-Hélène Estienne, an ensemble piece beautifully portrayed by (the magnificent) Kathryn Hunter, Marcello Magni and Jared McNeill, along with musicians Raphaël Chambouvet and Toshi Tsuchitori. There was no plot as such. Although the narrative was centred around the story of Sammy Costas, a woman with a particularly fascinating memory, the piece was more concerned with the insights that she (and other characters, multiroled by her fellow actors) could offer into the workings of the human brain than what actually happened to them individually throughout the course of the play - most of what would be called 'plot' came from back stories.
Aside from Sammy, there was a man whose synaesthesia caused him to see colours whilst hearing music, and another guy whose paralysis had destroyed his proprioception (his sense of his body in space), which meant he had to use his eyes to direct his movements. If he couldn't see, he'd fall over - and this is where I was most intrigued.
When I was little, I was often asked to be a 'model' for physiotherapy students, and to participate in training courses. The students would work with me (and other kids) every day for two weeks or so, hoping to gain a deeper understanding of paediatric physical disability. I did loads of rounds of this sort of thing, over several years, but naturally there are particular incidents which leap out of my memory.
The one relevant to today's post involved the course leader asking the students to watch me sitting independently on a plinth and to note the stability of my trunk and how well my feet were grounded. He then blindfolded me with a towel, and I crumbled, feeling really wobbly and completely off-balance.
I learnt a huge lesson that day, never mind the students: I hadn't realised how much I was using my eyes until they were taken away, if only for a moment. All my focus and concentration was rooted in my sight, but it was so unconscious that I'd failed to notice my reliance. Since then, for about the last fifteen years, I have worked to improve my proprioception - and I think I can now safely say that I can do most things without the involvement of my eyes being absolutely necessary. Even so, after a while I begin to feel wobbly and unstable, and I'm not yet back to the place where I can sit on a plinth (or the edge of my bed) on my own and feel totally secure.
I identified with that particular character a lot, feeling great empathy for the manner in which he lived his life, and his story provoked many different emotions for me. It made me think about how everything is relative. In some ways, he is condition was much more severe than mine. After all, cerebral palsy doesn't equate to paralysis (as I am so often having to remind people!), and I don't fall over if I shut my eyes. However, I often feel as though I might, and I know my issues with proprioception are responsible for the motion sickness I sometimes experience in the car. Moreover, he had managed to get himself back in to better physical shape than I have, and he could walk. This would leave him as the more able of the two of us in the eyes of medical professionals, were it possible to compare a real person with a fictional character.
So, thanks to the concept of relativity, the subjectivity of human experience and our ever-growing understanding of the abilities and possibilities of the brain, I am inspired. If a man with difficulties with proprioception which affect him so significantly that he falls over if he closes his eyes is still able to walk, then so am I. So will I. More than that, I'm well on the way, and I'm hugely enjoying the journey through my own valley of astonishment.
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