The bones of Joseph, which the Israelites had brought up from Egypt, were buried at Shechem, in the portion of the land Jacob had bought from the children of Hamor, the father of Shechem, for one hundred pieces of money; it became an inheritance of the descendants of Joseph. (Joshua 24:32) Impossibly long the trail that leads from there to here, up from parted water through empty desolations no one cares to own, to a stopping place safe from the whip, beneath a willow tree. The earth is weeping. Each step is a tear, witness to the passage of his bones. He is laid to rest — if there is such a thing as rest in this migrant life, always moving with the rhythms of the world, one step ahead of terror, one step short of grace. His father bought this land, they say. He is at peace, they say. It is inheritance, they say, this land, this rock-hewn charnel for his bones. But who belongs here? Who knows any peace but the sweet caress of the morning breeze, the fiery … [Read more...]

What in the world is a blue-eyed snake? A sign that things are surely changing, that what is old is sloughing off, not yet replaced by something new. It’s hard to know just where you’re going when you can’t see just where you are. Snakes shed their skin. It’s how things are. It must be hard to be a snake: about the time you get things going your eyes grow dim and things start changing. You have no choice: you face the new blind as a bat. The first thing off is eyelid skin — before it’s off it turns opaque, and your eyes are useless and blue. It’s nothing new, unless you don’t know you’re a snake, can’t understand why things are changing, can’t see which way the way the world is going. I can’t help wondering if what’s going on with us is not far off from snakes whose skin is always changing. How vulnerable it seems we are to fear of change. Like a snake reflexively we hiss at new threats perceived though unseen, new phantoms in the fog, going past in … [Read more...]