Then, on New Year's Eve, we did it again, this time a view from the ground, of our fellow humans gravely and frivolously and clumsily and with ardent grace dancing and singing and drumming in the New Year all around this planet. Remarkable and touching moments followed the sun as old women dressed in paint and grass skirts danced on a Pacific beach, acrobats played aerial games on the Sydney opera house roof. Serious, pretty children sang together on Pitt Island, drummers saluted the setting sun from a cliff in Portugal, and a harrowing ritual of dancers, offerings, skeletons and a colossal representation of the Buddhist universe combined to remind us of our humble place in the enormity of the cosmos. Conch shells were blown and drums called up the sun; young women in antique gowns waltzed with tuxedo-clad young men in Vienna; a beautiful and nearly naked young Italian dancer impersonated Neptune with a blue silk scarf floating around him on the floor. Samoan girls practiced a hula on a hotel patio, waiting for the New Year to pass all around the world to reach them, on the other side of the international date line.

There were Maoris stamping their feet and sticking out their tongues, dancing ferocious warrior's dances peacefully; there were the ethereal voices of English boy sopranos. Northern and Southern Ireland choirs sang Danny Boy, together and with undeniable power. In the arctic lands where the sun will not rise for many weeks Samis danced to the fire in the hearth with wolf skins on their heads. Inuits drummed to the fish in the sea. Clowns in Spain staged an aerial battle between good and evil. It was unclear who won. The Eiffel Tower was surprisingly pretty, woven with strands of fire. The Thames looked as if it were being bombed — but it wasn't!

Dances very much like the hula were danced everywhere, by men and women of all ages. Various deities and beliefs and aesthetics were shown seriously, without mockery. Joyous, blissful, thoughtful, homespun, sophisticated and very simple celebrations were there for us to see. The Eastern world and the Pacific world, Islands and continents, showed each other what to do on a great occasion. Lighted barges processed down the Nile. Representations of the god Anubis, dog-headed masked dancers wearing business suits, lined up and revolved slowly against the light. The Pyramids glowed, celebrating a seventh, at least, thousand year history. A choir sang from the illuminated Acropolis in Athens. Indian women danced stories that were old thousands of years ago. New Orleans jazz musicians buried the passed year in a funeral ceremony. Kiri Te Kanawa sang. French school children planted trees along a time zone demarcation.

Much of the technology was Western but much of the most powerful, magical imagery, comforting in its perfectly appropriate artistry, came from less technologically advanced areas. The serious, dignified grandmothers dancing on the beaches and every country's singers and dancers gave us reasons to be cheerful and hopeful about the new millenium.

After months and months of scaring ourselves with fears of failing light, riots, terror and disasters of all kinds, after a week of arresting every Algerian in sight, we were faced with the comforting sight of an elder man running slowly down the international date line, lighting torches. All over the world, there were celebrations of light and fire. Plenty of light to go around.

All the man-hole covers in Times Square were welded shut so people couldn't lurk in the sewers on New Year's Eve. (My idea of a good time.) My local grocery store reserved several aisles for flashlights, batteries, bottled water and other emergency supplies, as if a blizzard were on the way. A mild, pleasant evening without any blizzard followed. Times Square was able to produce a sparkling ball of light contained and reflected and celebrated in intricate panes of Waterford crystal. On top of the welded man-hole covers an orderly crowd counted down the seconds.

Street crews in New York have, by now, swept up the confetti and pried open the man-hole covers. On Boston common, far from having to deal with a blizzard or any other terrible emergency, the ice-sculptures have peacefully melted in a burst of Spring-like weather.

We will, of course, eventually have to deal with blizzards and earthquakes and volcanos and possibly dreadful misbehavior by resentful, enraged terrorists of various stripe; there will be catastrophes and regrettable, dreary accidents. For every one of us, the world will end someday and for every one of us, there will be some measure of grief and suffering.

However, we had, as a species, and a planet, a lovely New Year's Eve. We danced and sang and drummed and looked with admiration at our fellow creatures, images carried on television of a luminous globe, singing to its new day.

The sun came up again. It was an accomplishment.