New Skin

The other day in the shower my skin itched like crazy. I don't know why I've become so attuned to my skin and its preferences and habits; I fear it is as much boredom as it is solitude. Maybe this is just me, but if I'm in the shower and I scratch my back or my leg, I end up with old skin cells on my fingers; under my nails (what an appealing visual, eh??). I kind of laughed at it--isn't the skin replaced entirely every three days or so? Skin is new almost every morning. The whole process of scrubbing down and lathering up seems sort of fruitless and well, comical. But it reminded me of one rather vivid part in C.S. Lewis' The Chronicles of Narnia, which I love (yet I have no taste for Tolken--why? Deranged? Discuss later) in which Eustace, a particularly unlikable character, is, by his own greediness, turned into a dragon. Eustace the dragon finds himself face to face with Aslan, who leads him to a well in which to bathe and heal, but instructs him to undress first. Eustace scratches at his scaly skin and peels off the epidermis layer, much like a snake does, but finds himself looking exactly the same. He tries again. And again. Finally the Lion says to him, "Let me do it." Eustace describes the first tear as being so deep it felt as if it went into his heart. The process was so painful, made bearable only by the feeling of those layers being peeled away. Eustace said the difference was those first three layers he did himself didn't hurt, and hadn't gotten to the root of the problem. I wonder, my skin is new every day, but my scars are always there. Why are there some things even deeper than the hope of renewal?
I itch, thus I scratch. I scratch; I become marked. I am marked; I scar. I scar; I am.