New year’s eve under a cave with a towering tribal bonfire blowing high and wide with the NorthEasterly trade winds and drops of stalagtite filtered water dripping softly and intermittently above our heads from the roof of the cave, from the cave of the roof, from the roof of our mind to the mind of our eye to the eye of our subconscious mind. Now never to be the same. Never to see in the same way…All the while the pink white conch shell sand below our feet and the lonesome ocean’s murmur but a few steps away. All the elements of ancestral tribal man present for the plucking of another year like the feather that falls softly through the breeze, from high above the Caribbean sky, and dances her way to the ground. Only to be picked up again and carried through another. Fire, Cave, Ocean, Sand, Earth, Cave water, Wind, Stars, Planets, Milky Way, Southern Cross, Big Dipper shining North, Puerto Rico lighting the East, Djembe drums and congas, guiros and maracas, seeds of trees resound within the dried gourds. The Mona Iguana dragging her weight through the earth, watchful and curious as ever, the native guardian of the biting, limestone cave-riddled rock which sits comfortably perched above the roaring waves of the wicked Mona Passage, all mighty swallower of pirates and shipwrecker of crazy barbed Conquistadors who came for the guano…