refraction #1
Premise: Tears of the God 2026 Cohort, Rosemary Collective Studio Practice (40 minutes of flow time)
- i cannot feel the grief of the world but I grieve the world while it is housing mine.
- the sun, the moon, the stars, the way the earth tilts, the way grass grows, and the clouds cry — all of it holds memory and mischief. memories so ancient and wide, we cannot walk every path that has been paved, or touch every stone that has been overturned. who knows what we can touch, with which we can shape the clays and pots with our hands, or the ways in which we can sway our hips to the rhythm to our collective breathing. to inhale and to exhale the mycelium that connects us to primordial memoir.
- perhaps we are not meant to be aware of what predates us or what legacy we will imprint on the trees and sand where we’re gone but, we can lean into its coexistence. we can receive what guides us, and we can share what shifts us. we can note when we breathe, so we can learn how to walk, so we can reach for a jar of honey to dress a wound, so we can press our fingers into the mud, so we can disappear into ashes and stardust.
- cycles and spirals. descending to emerge. climbing to fall. crying to smile. all in one lifetime. in one single exhale trying to capture every particle of our lives so that when we breathe in again we know that we’ve existed. to avoid fading into obscurity, agreeing to polish the absurdity of being small and finite. refracting the rainbow back into the prism in hopes that it answers back.
- i love to watch people rest. to see them slow. to notice when their muscles expand and contract involuntarily. to look at the candles in their eyes — the webbing of their irises collecting particles of moments to remind themselves they’re here. i love to see people focus and how their breathing changes when they hug someone — if they’ve ever hugged someone or if they’ve ever loved someone. i love to hear people’s voice. watching their mouths open and close, how their lips and teeth and tongue form words, howe their throats and vocal chords fold and unfold to sing a slur of sounds. i want to know what it feels like to scream in your body or what it means when can feel your ribcage shapeshift like every protein in your body does to keep you alive just the same.
- tell me how you know you’re alive and that you have a consciousness and that you’re real. do you ever think about yourself breathing? when you breather and touch what you know is around you — what are you grieving? can you tell me all the grief you’ve ever felt? is it happy? could it ever be happy? what colors is it when you reach out to the void and it reaches back? how does it feel to let go?
- lean in. what is yours that feels like yours? everyone wants to be immortal because being remembered is what immortalizes us
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