You’ll witness a miracle today. The play...

You’ll witness a miracle today. The play “The Miracle Worker,” to be exact. The true, if somewhat fictionalized, story of how a blind, deaf girl, Helen Keller, was led out of the darkness and silence by a gifted teacher, Annie Sullivan.

The 1 p.m. performance at the Will Geer Theatricum Botanicum, 1419 N. Topanga Canyon Blvd., will be signed for deaf people in the audience. Admission is $12 ($8.50 for senior citizens and students, $4 for children 6-12, free for children 5 and under). Box office: (310) 455-3723.

Deafness and blindness are not limited to the disabled. I suffer from them myself. The trouble is, my problem isn’t the kind any doctor can diagnose and cure.

My problem is that I can see things but don’t really see them. I can hear things but don’t really hear.

I’m a Pillar of the Community. Probably, though not necessarily, white; very likely middle-aged; a homeowner; a taxpayer; definitely a registered voter.

Helen gropes her way around her parents’ house, bumping into furniture, arms flailing, hair tangled. She trips over obstacles, oblivious to warning voices.

I see the homeless and read about AIDS and worry about unemployment, but if I don’t bump into them, they might as well not exist. If I do, I react just as Helen does: with a tantrum.

Annie forces Helen’s fingers into the signs of the alphabet, over and over. She hopes inspiration will leap like an electric spark from fingers to brain. She hopes words will become the girl’s eyes and illuminate the world that has been hidden from her.

Family, church and school drilled me in the motions of compassion. I can’t blame them. But how did I end up so well insulated, blocking any current that would connect knowing with feeling?

“How can I get though to her?” Annie cries at a moment when the treatment seems to be stalled.

It seemed for a few days this spring that feeling had broken though. I could see the smoke and flame of the riots. I could hear the sirens and gunshots. I talked about how Los Angeles would never be the same; about how I, too, was irrevocably changed.

But now I don’t know. The riots seem a long time ago . . . just another TV program I watched and switched off.

I need a miracle of my own.

So I’m attending the Westwood Presbyterian Church Benefit Musicale today at 3 and 7 p.m. at the church, 10822 Wilshire Blvd. Actor Anthony Hopkins will be master of ceremonies. Proceeds will go to People Assisting the Homeless, Child S.H.A.R.E., the Westside Food Bank and the Riot Recovery Program of Westminster Presbyterian Church in South Central Los Angeles. Minimum donation is $20.

It’s only the first letter in the alphabet of hope--but where else can I start?