indeed, we had the sentence of death within ourselves so that we would not trust in ourselves, but in God who raises the dead.
2 Cor 1:9
“This is my sentence,” Paul sits with a paper-clip around his index finger, “my sentence of death.” Looking up in the sky, I watch his hand pan in and out. Connecting dots, Paul is drawing out shapes. A circle, in a circle, in a circle.
“This death is not hidden,” Paul continues, “it sits like sky above us. It hovers.” I begin to see bigger stars, bigger shapes to be drawn. “It hovers within,” Paul says squimishly.
Paul is not Paul, today. What he is saying, seems absurd, like it is someone I don’t know. “We are always outside ourselves, yes, don’t you see.” Paul peeps. “That is how I feel this death within me. It is when I feel it within me, that I am outside it.”
“I hover over death, also, as death hovers me.”
“But once I’m outside, I’m not myself, I am someone else,” Paul continues, “I am graciously kept in a space. A large place.” I watch Paul curling his hands into his clothing. Soon Paul is a ball, his body rolling between bushes. “I trust this space.”
This space, Paul talks about, it looks fertile. Plush with greeneries.
“O this space!” Paul screams from miles away, “doesn’t hover! It raises the dead.”
Paul unfolds himself behind some trees then says, “but there is only one friendly person here. Let him find us! We pray!”