Covenants

The Gibeonites had come to him with moldy bread and cracked wineskins and worn sandals, performing the appearance of men from a distant land.

The physician who reads everyone’s receipts but his own. The Covenant with the Body, written by a cardiologist who had to learn it the hard way.

Not the silence of an empty room. The silence of one thousand and eight hundred people who have come from forty-seven countries and are now, collectively, holding.

There is a kind of life that was never started: the unlived one, the gift left sealed on a shelf.

A family gathering. Everyone together in the frame, laughing, turned toward one another, the kind of photograph that prints itself onto the inside of the skull.

There are two of you: the one who chose this life and the one who was trained to perform it. The Covenant with Self decides which one finishes.