The Sculptor in the Back of the Room
When people ask what carving does for me, I often say: It brings me into the present.
But the truth is a little more layered than that.
Even when I’m carving, the voice in my head doesn’t shut up.
It still chatters, still critiques, still runs its commentary on everything—just like it always does.
But the difference is… I’m not in it.
When I carve, I become the observer to the normal chaos of my mind. It’s like I’ve taken a seat at the back of the room, watching that voice carry on its monologue without needing to argue, react, or shut it down. It just… is. And I just… carve.
That’s the magic of the work I do through USE.
Carving isn’t just a creative act—it’s a space where the self and the noise start to separate.
It’s where presence doesn’t mean silence—it means freedom from attachment.
And that, for me, is where real peace begins.
