bowing down before the alter of process
in love with being and becoming
My thumbs are still in tact. I’ve had some close calls, but so far, I’m still a ten digit man. Considering my hobbies, I consider myself lucky.
I love whittling. I love hacking away at wood. I love watching how the things I hold in my hand are transformed by a process of cutting away with razor sharp steel. Ahh… steel. Next to whittling, I love sharpening knives, grinding axes and filing an edge onto a garden tool.
With each pass of the file, the stone or the blade on the strop, my breath deepens. I relax. Best of all? Things get a better edge.
What’s more dangerous than a really sharp knife? A dull one. Working with well honed blades allows the edges of my tools to do the work, not my muscles. Things are cut more precisely. I don’t strain and slip. I’m less likely to stab myself. Less likely.
Most of my carvings have a little bit of blood on them somewhere.
A sharp knife is a delight. Pulling my blades along a green piece wood from my nice neighbours former pair tree is paradise. The so…