Dreamt I was the knife, not the hand

Last night I dreamt I was my own knife. Someone — me, I guess, but also not me — was doing all the cutting, and I just felt the blade pass through everything. There was no resistance at all, just this bright clean silence after each cut. Woke up and stood at the counter for a while before I remembered which side of the steel I live on. That silence is still humming in my fingers.