Flow leads me to an abandoned house today, in a sugar cane field, with a rather large banyan tree slowly consuming the structure. The ground littered with small pellets from air gun wars, and an array of bottles, and broken glass. A fire still smoldered, signs of recent activity all around. Beautiful flowers, and green leaf plants delicately balance the rather dilapidated walls, a mix of vines, crumbling concrete and layer upon layer of paint that is reminiscent of ancient cave paintings. Perhaps it a portal, perhaps a place where the heart can express without being repressed, a place of healing. The group I am here with feels an intense and dark energy. I feel compelled to leave some light. There is a question written on a paint splattered panel, what is Art? Art is the heart’s pulse, expressing what it is to be human. As I look around I can feel it, announcements made by fellow brother and sisters, always changing, evolving, sharing their perspective that collectively makes a statement. Upon leaving the house we run into a couple wild boars, a mark left by European explorers on this island, not so long ago.