Sometimes it all starts with a mental photograph.  The memory of a vision, perhaps.   A snapshot rendered only in the mind, but somehow, a recorded image none the less.

The more the image is accessed, the stronger it becomes.   And then, one day, you just pick up a tool and start to make the damn thing.   Metal chips begin to fly, and iron and steel brighten under the torch.    Wood shavings drop to the ground.   Occasionally a little blood is shed, so the band-aid tin gets stuffed full with new recruits.

By constant reference the image deepens and matures as more and more details are completed.  Finally, one day, you can reach out and touch that vision.  It has become corporeal.  A created “thing” that sits in a circle of it’s own construction debris; all the parts of it that are not, as it were.

Only then are you free.

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