I hear his footsteps getting louder and nearer. He is now standing at the piece, but I do not hear his hands massaging the clay...
... “I may not be able to move, but it is unfair for you to take advantage of this situation and try to penetrate my mind with your teachings.”
I hear nothing of his actions. I get goose bumps. I feel the blanket of my soul moving in waves in my body like a flag dances in wind.
“Herman!” I scream, trying to stop whatever it is he is doing. “You can mold my body in clay, but you cannot shape my soul.”
“You can stand now. I am done. Thank you for your patience and openness.” His voice is deeper than usual. I immediately stand. I walk towards the sculpture. I am still naked. I face my equal in clay. I observe what he has done. Herman has sliced a rectangular window through my clay back. It begins at the bottom of my shoulder blades and goes all the way down to my lower back. I see the scrap rectangle beside the sculpture, still attached to the knife that has just sliced it out. I peak through the window in my back and see my clay legs and clay feet through it.
I raise my eyes from the scope and look at Herman, who is standing remarkably close. I point to the opening in the back of the sculpture and frown my mouth to show him my confusion.

“But you worked so long on getting the back just right. Why have you done this? What is it?”
“Why this is the window to your soul.” He replies. “Have another look.”