The character of searching

What begins as a journey of the sharpness of a blade searching out the last moment of surface emerges as an exploration of your own character of searching, the wood, in effect, becoming more and more accentuated towards your own existence. 

The warmth of your body wraps itself around that whisper of substance, the last vestiges of any solid sense nestling there like a trusting child cuddling upon your chest as you both lie down to take an easeful, restful sleep. 

And you dream.

But at some point you need to stop. 

In shaping solidity, in moving towards an ultimate end of carving down to nothing, at some point all that remains on that other side is your own skin.