Lingis also pushes carnal phenomenology in a tentatively realist direction with his conception of the levels of the world. For Lingis, the carnal medium is not something permanently fixed along a thin wedge between human self and inanimate world, as remains the case even in Merleau-Ponty's later work. For Lingis, carnality exists less between myself and the things than in the things themselves - and always at a very specific level to which I must adjust myself. Humans are not the preciously unique site of carnal reality, but only supple vehicles built to explore the various levels on which carnality is found. With our tools and bodily organs we explore the levels of a conversation, a dangerous forest, a seedy waterfront, the Karakoram Range, the works of a poet, the keys of a saxophone, or the patterns on a fish. These levels fill up the world with or without my permission, and merely summon me to enter them - just as any given restaurant or opium den enacts its style in the world even when I refuse to enter. The flesh does not first appear when humans arrive on the scene, but is already there linking the parts of the forest to one another as they invite me into their midst.