We're now in a marina in Punta Cana, probably til Christmas eve--the island has a strong grip, maybe recognizing our ambivalence at leaving. This place is determined to change us--has changed us, recognizes that we have been changed by it. The experience makes me think again of the myth of Persephone--once she had eaten the pomegranate seeds of the underworld, she was bound to that place always. This is like a sunlit underworld in some ways, never quite free, I think, of the history, of the metaphysics, if that's the right word, imposed by Columbus. I have come to feel haunted by a shadow-like Columbus, always at the edges of vision. The shades of the Taíno--and the bitter blood, the fierce vitality, of the slave revolutionaries. I have a Haitian vèvè of the crossroads, bought at Jazzfest years ago, hanging in a place of honor. Legba must be acknowledged properly--I think he is watching over us, I think he is laughing to himself a little, at what we are learning--at what we still have to learn.