i went to one, if not the most, precious place on earth:
jerusalem, by chance. perhaps.

Just stopped reading to write — so what’s new?— because the spirit moves me. It’s what happens. We know that. Done fighting it.


from like a blue thread:

Hills and valleys form an ancient landscape, different from the Moors’, older — an Alpha. The blue of the sky is pure, the clouds in perfect shapes. She wants to stop on the highway, get out of the car to gaze at them, stand on the soil to confirm she’s actually there. Can dead people roam the earth? She wonders if her grandfather knows where she is. He would be happy. He knew the Holy Land like the back of his hand though he had never been.

Sara arrives at the hotel in Ashqelon, which is by the sea, the Mediterranean Sea, just north of the Gaza Strip. After dinner . . .

We also went to the Holy Sepulcher church, built around one of the places believed to be Mount Calvary. On the top floor is the site where (supposedly) Jesus was crucified and the cross set. The ceilings and walls have mosaics that depict different stages of his death. Five denominations hold mass in this church, sometimes simultaneously, to outdo each other (not very brotherly, right?). I waited in line to get into a tiny cave to see the tomb of Jesus and part of the rock that covered the entrance to his burial place, the one moved on the third day, and broke down, wondering if my grandfather has been able to come here since he passed away. I bought and lit a few candles while Jonathan waited for me outside.

LIKE A BLUE THREAD