Carving Man 4/1/15

In the hands of a carver carving, I find a story of man. He is an artistan, finding his way with the tools of life. I study him as he works and I find all of the best in men. Men, caught in the mold of manhood, invested in self-views, within self-mysteries, in everything there is for them to do. When he carves, I find him mindfully, mostly in the actions of his hands, dancing at the edge of where he dare not touch. Yet,  I see in him through his tool articulations, deep caress and fondling embrace. He works the backside of the blade, the side most like him to his human touch, the side that he finds from within to give to women as his touch. For in a man's world all women are the blade, the ever blade that carves his dreams the forthright blade that can face his depths and demons and deliver him the images in time of his need. I see this man as any man. I watch in his hands as any being with another, making love across the blade-edge of with their beings. He puts forth trust and direction in his action, like a small child confident of needs. She, as the feminine, carves from herself, loving it all. He does not ever understand how or where this blade-edge benefits the wood but it does surrender conforming towards his grasping at images. She, as the feminine, works her savvy, transcending form and deed. In his private view, his hands will express all through the blade. He, as the masculine carving, gives completely from this simple loving. As the carving goes, the story itself unfolds . . .