KOSM
{the whispering void}
Welcome to the void — an invocation of the primordial elements. An intimate, multi-sensory experience weaving together body, breath, sound, and tea in a living exploration of presence, emergence and transformation.
Ritual theatre resembles a ceremony, leading its participants on a profound journey through their internal landscape. Honoring the celestial alignments of the nights of June 13th & 14th, our offering was amplified by the wider motion of the stars.
Each night was limited to thirty guests. Guided. Without any word spoken. Two water bearers, both male; two tea pourers, both female. Hand-sculpted cups, fired in open flame, awaited their touch. After every performance came curated herbal tea. A gentle intermission, an act of contemplation and integration between expressions. Revealing the element now through taste and scent.
Barefoot. A hallway of stairs leads toward the ceremonial space. Before entering, everyone’s forehead is met with a soft finger dipped in blue lotus essence. Continued procession toward their cushion. Buttocks nestle in, minds become still. The voluminous room dimly lit with a warm orange hue.
Our stage is circular. Half of which is framed by heavy black curtains. The other half, between audience and musicians, is empty. If one was not performing, one was offering sound to their sister element. In the middle of the circle, another circle, the mound of earth. On top a tiny sage tree.
Once the candles on the altar had been lit, a brighter hue and the heartbeat drum filled the atmosphere. Upon which the mound began to move and the body would be born soon. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, it shifted, as if something ancient was waking beneath it. Pushing through the dark Earth, the body began to reveal. She was not simply in the soil — she was of it. This was a birth. A becoming. Her emergence marked the arrival of the primordial that had always been present, waiting to take form once more.
After Earth came Air — a shift in texture, tempo, touch. She appeared veiled in gauzy white, light and translucent. Clothed in breath itself. Her presence was subtle yet charged, fanning the audience with seductive swirling. Breath was her guide, her instrument, her offering. Each inhale gathered tension, each exhale released it. Until the breath itself reached an orgasmic crescendo that pierced the silence. It was a release that felt both personal and collective. A reminder that air is not empty but alive and sensual.
Air was followed by Water. A dance of fluid grace, where the element moved through her as both prayer and presence. Water was poured with intention, slow and deliberate. First onto the altar, then onto her own body. Each drop a note in an ancient hymn. She anointed herself as vessel and oracle, sanctifying the flesh as conduit for the unseen. In this act, the boundaries between offering and offered dissolved.
Fire was the final rite. We turned to the audience, inviting them without word to take part in the closing gesture. Soft steps toward the mound, encircled by all. One by one, the audience lit their candle and placed it into the earth. The silence was reverent, as if each flame carried the weight of personal memory, grief, or hope. Our collective prayer transformed the mound into a living altar. The earth cradling our shared light, the fire now dispersed among many hands.
Γῆ
Gaia
Earth. Body. Temple.
— embodied by Marisa Papen
I could hear the echo of my heartbeat in the mound of dirt in which I was buried. Inward, inward, inward, absorbing, gestating, bloated belly, until voooom, explode. Can I explode without anger or frustration? Just the truth, roaring through me? I tend to equalize my environment to experience my desired reality. What if I’d stop doing that?
Roots of baby sage tree touch my shoulder, anchoring me into the still point while also pulling me into the world of light. Sprinkled around my bottom foot, a few dollops of deer poo. My chest nor belly can fully expand. The weight of the earth against my skin makes me aware of its limits to fall into crumbling. Sometimes I inhale deeper, calming my nervous system. But then, the anxiety to reveal before my time is ripe. Resulting into quicker heartbeat once again. I need to quiet my mind and allow the pressure to push me into movement.
For seed to turn into fruit, it must first become the tree. Not just in form, but in patience. Branches shaped by wind, bark thickened by time. Transformation is not a straight line. It spirals inward before it reaches outward. A closing happens behind shut eyes, and yet everything remains. Specks of dust scratch my pupils. Trust. Let it consume you.
Birthing, birthing, my birth is approaching. The crack — egg splitting, soundless but shaking. The breath between breaking. My dusted fingers guide me through the crust. I spill my shape like silk peeled from fruit. My body feels relieved to exhibit its form. Its shape that was made of the same joy that smiles through flowers. I do not have to be anything I am not. Projections do not exist when I do not accept them to be true. In the mound I became undone. I became nothing and everything at once.
Пєа
Pneuma
Air. Spirit. Breath.
— embodied by Venus Codes
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ὕδωρ
Hydór
Water. Emotion. Remembrance.
— embodied by April Raméé
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