But by the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me did not prove vain; but I labored even more than all of them, yet not I, but the grace of God with me.
1 Cor 15:10
“Yet not I,” Paul murmurred. In his being I heard the murmur. The dissolution of the subject, the subject: Paul. “I feel my eyes,” Paul gravitates about, “I feel the inner walls of my heart.” Paul trips in the patch of grass.
A piece of grass threads between his toes. He sits, empty, stooped down. Sweat drips from his pores, magma swirls across his being. “I want to sit,” Paul cries, “I want my mouth to open.” His body shakes.
I begin to see a pulse, it is Paul’s insides. The clockwork, creaking, ticking along rusty levers. It is his subjectivity rolling outward, rolling over itself, what I normally only feel I now see. That is why Paul felt the inner walls of his heart, why I see his insides, everything has inverted.
Paul was the capital I. Paul sat opposite the Other. Paul was defined by the Other, before, from outside. But now…
“Tell me,” Paul cries in absolute confusion, “what does it look like? To you?”
The clockwork begins to build little things. Little sand houses begin to drop upon the floor, houses with window covers and broad doorways. Houses, I cry to Paul, Homes!
“That is what I feel,” Paul jiggles loose the words, “corners and rounded edges.”
Now… we see the Other was also inside. Inside Paul was the Other. Yet not I, but the Grace of God with me. It was not Paul who willed or worked, it was the Other, God. There God was building dwellings for Paul’s subjectivity and softly and quietly, in sand, Paul mingled with the architecture of God’s subject.