Robin Blackstone, MD

In Antigua, the faithful carry the weight of sin. With bowed shoulders they walk, swaying to relieve the burden, faces fixed on duty. The streets are choked with incense, the air thick with devotion and doubt. A family kneels for hours, shaping their alfombra—a carpet of flowers and colored dust. Dust to dust. At last, the…

In Havana, a blind prima ballerina and a revolution once built a school that sought talent in every corner of Cuba—not privilege. Today its cracked mirrors and worn floors tell another truth: that every system, socialist or democratic, must guard against its own corruption. Yet the dance endures—infused with African rhythm, discipline, and grace—proof that…

The eternal mother and her child—she holds him tightly, her face lit by flame, her mind far away. Around them, the river glows. Thousands of lamps drift upon the Ganges, each a promise whispered to the night. This is Diwali—the Festival of Lights, when fire itself becomes prayer. She wonders if the ceremony can hold…