at_a_temple_in_bali raze you met a man who carved women from wood. "that one doesn't look finished," you said. "that's because she's not," the sculptor said. "if i stood here and whittled away at her every day, i would start to overthink things. after a while i wouldn't even know who she was anymore. so i step away for a few weeks, and when i return, she always has something new to tell me. the point isn't to get to a place where there's no more work to be done. none of us are ever really finished. the hope is to have a continuing conversation you're awake enough to appreciate and contribute to, however imperfect it might be. you see?" you took in the flawed features of a face hewn from hibiscus, considered how refinement would have blunted the beauty of her unblinking stare, and felt you understood. 260502 what's it to you? who go blather from