”Kevin Kling is a storyteller, playwright, and regular contributor to NPS’s All Things Considered. His plays have been seen at the Guthrie Theater, Second Stage, the Seattle Repertory Theatre, the Goodman Theatre, the Spoleto Festival and the HBO Comedy Arts Festival in Aspen, Colorado. Each fall he performs at the National Storytelling Festival in Jonesborough, Tennessee. He lives in Minneapolis.”
The above was taken from the jacket of Kevin Kling’s book The Dog Says How. It’s a small book good for snippets of times. I have had the privelage of hearing Kevin tell at Jonesborough and at the Kennedy Center in DC. I love Kevin. He knows about living with a disability. He lived with one for years and acquired more due to a motocycle accident. He loves life and inspires many. I spoke with him this last Oct. while attending the National Storytellers Festival. Kevin gave me permission to quote his book.
page 177 – 178
When he (Dante) entered the underworld midway through life, he called it Dis. D-i-s, Latin for the underworld, the place of shadow and reflection, a place to contemplate and round off the rough edges of torment and desire. HE knew you can’t cure a trauma, whether it’s a broken limb or heart or promise. The heart, especially, is an instrument that once broken never plays the same and, although it can’t e cured, it can be healed.
Dante knew Dis was a necessary step toward paradise. IT’s also the prefix for words like disability, which doesn’t mean unability. It means able in a different way. Able through the world of shadow and reflection. A foot in two worlds. Dis.
We have a Bassett Hound we got as a puppy. We were told by the breeder that when training a Basset Hound they start out slow and then taper off. If ours sees a squirrel he goes crazy and runs after it. But if the squirrel goes up a tree, the dog thinks, “Wow, it’s gone. How? How, how? How? How?” And there’s the squirrel in the tree looking down at his problem.
Ever since my accident I don’t fear death. I get a sense of peace to think I’ll see my ancestors and friends I’ve lost—my dad, my dog, and my arm. Until then…How how why why why.
