I never knew that I could be cut open so precisely, so painlessly, but it’s true. I got cut beautifully. That was quite the maneuver, quite the steady hand, and I couldn’t help but admire the spectacle as it happened. Sure, there was some fear of not getting closed up again, accompanied by some doubt stemming from the memories of cuts I had made myself in the past, cuts that hadn’t quite gone deep enough, or that went way too deep, the resulting scars now hidden by myself, as well as by others. There was blood too, when he went to work on me, and quite a lot of it. But I was already convinced, I already knew I was in the presence of a master, and when one recognizes a master, one can either fight to the death or kneel, and beg to be a student.
So, am I a coward for not fighting? You think I was too quick to just roll over? You think I too eagerly set my fate in stone when I bent the knee? Comrade, I beg you, just look at that cut! It is so accurate, it could bring tears to a connoisseur’s eyes. Not only does this exquisite laceration show exactly what needs to be seen, it hides all that which needs to be hidden, as well! And that is what makes it so maddeningly perfect, that is why I am obsessing over it still.
Surely, I had been told about the skin layers, the muscle tissues and the bone structures before, but to show it all at once, to offer the full vista to those who know how to look… I am so far away from that capability still, it is depressing on my worst days, the days on which I lash out and disfigure the unfortunate soul that happens to stand in my way. On the other hand, it sets the soul aflame on the good days, days where my hands move on their own, and I cut off all the unnecessary fat, all the imperfections and inadequacies, sometimes even removing the metastases and necroses. I bless people with health and wings on those days.
But the master gives out wings at will! His cuts show hidden histories, they put known facts in a new light, as if he cuts into the past itself! And the most beautiful wounds he inflicts are so profound, they force the shaping of events to come, they resound into the future, a future we won’t even experience! To witness this all, it makes the brain sing. That is another thing about a master. When one catches a glimpse of the true beauty of these masterful works it makes the brain chirp with the song of a thousand birds.
It begs the question, what song does the master hear? It must be a million birds at once, chirping their hymn? Or did he transcend into silence, did he gain command over the birds’ little throats? It must bring one close to madness, whatever the case is! And to be sure, where else than on the edge of the abyss can one learn what the best, the deepest of cuts are about? Oh… oh… the darkest of ideas creep in the shadows of our minds, it is true! What if… what if I were to cut open the master? Oh, what deep heresy came over me, out of nowhere it came! But it makes my hands tremble with an excitement that overwhelms my capability to hide it! Now think… possibilities offer themselves to anyone willing to be patient! Even masters must eat, even masters must bathe and sleep! And even though it might be the case that I will not be able to muster the courage to do it while he breathes, even masters must die, at least in the physical sense! And I am not above grave robbing, I am not! To lacerate this beautiful brain, I would dig to the depths of hell if needed! But am I worthy? Do I feel myself worthy?
Certainly, I cut the master before, but that was just because he let me. Skin deep I went, just to see what his reaction would be. Ugly, imperfect cuts, on purpose, most of them. Or that is what I tell myself! And how else is communication possible? Many wear masters’ masks, and few have the eye that pierces, but pain tends to bring out the truth, tends to bring it out fast. Oh yes, masks slip easily when pain is inflicted, those who would master the scalpel or the sword are advised to learn the art of inflicting pain by heart, if they do not possess the instinct already. To understand all of this, that is what gives me an opportunity!
Now then! Pray forgive me, my beautiful master, forgive me for these unworthy cuts! Forgive me for these impure plans of mine, these sins I am about to commit! Just know that it was you who made me do it, it was you who showed me the way, the tools, the path, the taste for blood that doesn’t come naturally for most of us, but which is so sorely needed if we are to have a future! The birds are chirping again, they confirm that what I am doing is destiny, that it is good, that it is meant! And this sadness, visible even though my face is covered in blood now, this sadness is because… you knew, you knew and you planned this! You devious, devilish master. You knew all along, didn’t you? Is that why you smile? This smirk, it cuts me deeper than my scalpel ever could!
How disappointing, and how exhilarating! My most beautiful cut, my most perfect wound, my magnum opus, it is just a stroke on your painting now completed! It is the final stroke, but just a stroke no less! As the tears flow, I realize that all the cuts I made and will make in the future I would trade to live this moment again, and I will. Because nothing compares to meeting a master, nothing in the world even comes close.